George Weasley fic recs

That had been that. You'd kissed him on the cheek, a bit sloppily, and he'd stood staring at his own door after you'd closed it, dumbfounded until Lee grabbed him by the shoulder and alerted him to the brawl brewing in his living room.

It's still early, around eight, he thinks, judging by the light coming through the windows. He throws a pillow at Ron's sleeping face on the other couch before getting up and heading toward the hallway. He presses an ear to Fred's door and then to his own. He can hear you shuffling around inside, so he knocks softly.

"Y/N? It's me."

"Come in," comes your response, a bit hoarse but bright.

He closes the door behind him, arms crossed behind his back.

"Hi," you say.

"Morning," he replies, "You didn't have to make the bed."

"I know."

For a beat, you stand in silence. Birds chirp outside and the low hum of the vacuum is the only noise inside the apartment. You’re wearing one of his shirts and a pair of running shorts that are too big on you, things you probably grabbed from one of his drawers. The dress you wore last night hangs from the back of his desk chair, a pretty yellow thing in the middle of everything that is his. 

You look perfect like this, eyes soft and your face scrubbed clean. He’s not sure what makes him ache more: the sight of you wearing his clothes or the fact that you’re so at ease in his home, like this is where you belong. 

He coughs and looks away before he can think too hard about it.

“So.”

“So.” You smile at him, something beatific, like you know what he’s thinking and don't mind it. A triangle of skin from your thigh flashes as you sit on George's bed, your leg folded underneath you.

He moves to take the chair before remembering that’s where your dress is. The fabric is a reminder of your skin, soft and warm underneath his hands as he held your waist last night, a groovy pop song blaring over the speakers.

He finds himself beside you on the bed, thighs barely brushing. He doesn’t want to wrinkle your clothes, is all.

He knows he’s fucked.

“What's the plan?” He asks.

You lie back and he follows, arms touching from shoulder to elbow. George doesn't remember his room being this warm.

"I have a thing next Sunday." You say. "We're having dinner at my grandma's house."

"Am I coming?"

He feels the pillow shift as you turn to face him. He doesn't look back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He counts the specs of dust in the air, willing his heartbeat to slow down. 

"Do you want to?”

"Of course. I love her food." 

You snort and turn your head back. “What about the shop?”

“I’ll ask Lee to cover for me. He won’t mind.” He will, but you don’t have to know that. 

“Mm.” 

The mattress dips as you roll onto your side, facing him. You lift a hand and brush his hair away from his face. He closes his eyes, indulging in your soft touch. 

“If we’re gonna do this,” you say carefully, “we have to do it right.”

He turns to glance at you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I want it to be convincing.” 

“I can be convincing,” George says, a little too quickly.

You laugh, fresh breath fanning across his cheek. You have your own toothbrush in his bathroom, as well as a collection of hair ties George keeps finding wherever you leave them.

“I know.” You slide a finger across his nose and he worries you can hear his heart thump thump thumping. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

George has no time to ponder what you could possibly mean by that because a loud crash and a variety of expletives come from the living room.

“Ron.” You say at the same time.

It’s a pleasure to hear you laugh, even as it shatters the delicate atmosphere of the moment. He loves the way your nose wrinkles. Completely fucked, is what he is.

“Y/N.” He says finally. You sober up and meet his eyes, an inch between your noses. He wishes, selfishly, that you would close the gap and take him out of his misery.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” He continues instead, moving a hand to grab a strand of your hair and twirl it between his fingers. “I want– I want you to be comfortable. I'm only all in if you are.” 

Your grin is impossible, teeth and dimples and something that tugs insistently at George’s stomach. He grins back, finds the courage from God knows where to kiss your forehead before standing up. He misses your satisfied smile.

“Okay.” You say to his back, his hand already on the door handle. “All in, then.”

“All in.” 

∗

It's barely past noon, and there's no trace of last night's party at the twins' house. Ron left a while ago, after promising to come back sometime during the week to fix the table he'd broken. Lee, in a rare display of amiability, handled most of the housework without complaining. You'd tried to help the boys with the cleaning, but George obviously wouldn't have it. Instead, he'd made you a quick breakfast, told you to shower while he got it ready, and then walked you home despite your protests.

He'd expected you to kiss him at your door, but you hadn't. Instead, you'd looked at him in a way that made his knees feel like water and told him to call you later.

He walks home feeling like a sick puppy. He hopes it doesn't show too much when he gets back– how pathetically in love he is and how little he can do about it.

Fred is watching a rugby game on the TV when George closes the front door, so he walks to the kitchen and pours himself far too much cereal.

He's barely chewing through the first mouthful when Fred says, "What's with you and Y/N?"

George chokes a bit and has to pour himself two glasses of water before even thinking of an answer.

What is it with you and him?

George can fool your family, your friends and his own, probably even some of his siblings if he really put his mind to it. God knows he's been fooling himself about you for years, only now coming to terms with the fact that he wants you– all of you.

But Fred? He can't fool his twin, much as he'd like to.

"What about her?" He replies, as casually as he can after the cereal mishap. He takes his bowl out into the living room and sits down on the loveseat to Fred's right.

His brother throws him a look out of the corner of his eye. "You know what I'm talking about."

George scratches his nose, feeling like Fred's judging his every move even though his twin never once looks away from the game on the TV. He knows there's no use pretending with Fred.

So George tells him about your family and your cousin's wedding, about how you asked him to be your pretend boyfriend. George tells Fred how you want it to be convincing enough, and how he feels like he wants to die because he doesn't know how much is enough without giving himself away. He tells Fred that you said it scared you, how convincing he could get.

He doesn't say how he realized he doesn't need to pretend when he saw you standing in his room wearing his clothes. Neither does he mention that his heart leaps every time he thinks of you: your perfect hair and your sweet perfume, and the way you move your hands when you talk.

George doesn't need to tell Fred about any of that because his twin knows, like he knows everything else about him.

When he's done, he doesn't feel hungry anymore.

"Am I insane?" He asks dejectedly.

Fred clears his throat, his face a mixture of sympathy and amusement. "I mean, it's not your brightest idea. But it's also not the end of the world."

Not the end of the world, obviously, just a torturous affair. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? Because it fucking sucks, if you ask George.

There's a pause where the lull of the TV fills the silence.

"You can always just tell her the truth. What is there to lose?"

Nothing, is the thing. George would lose nothing. Not you, nor your friendship. You're both way past that.

When he thinks about it, he's almost positive that, at the very least, you find him as attractive as he finds you, even if, in his case, that feels like an unfair understatement. He's seen the way you look at him, caught you staring and then holding his gaze like you're challenging him. He likes that you don't get shy when he notices.

You call him handsome, hold his arm when you're walking and say something ridiculous about the gym finally paying off. You know his coffee order and, weirdly enough, you also know which days he works late.

You keep one of his jackets in your closet, a brown leather thing he loves, and he hasn't asked for it back. He doesn't know why.

"Oh, God," George groans, running a hand through his hair. "What if I'm reading this all wrong?"

Fred rolls his eyes. "I know you're not as dense as you're acting right now."

"Fred."

"George," Fred mocks him, a ghost of a smile betraying his tone, "You're a big boy, you can handle it. Fake it 'til you make it, right?"

"But I'm not faking, is the thing."

Fred's face softens. "You'll live through it. It'll hurt a lot, and then it'll be awkward, and you'll probably wish you'd never agreed to it. But you'll live."

George flicks a cornflake at his brother.

"Oi, watch it! I'll have you clean the floors again."

"You're a dickhead."

"And you're pathetic. Not a good look, let me tell you."

"I just– I want to do this right."

"So do it. You're already halfway there," Fred yawns, like the whole conversation is a supremely boring affair. He seems to consider something for a moment before finally turning to look at his brother.

"Listen, I'm only going to say this once because I feel sorry for you."

George lifts a hand to his heart, touched. "Thanks."

Fred rolls his eyes. "Y/N's been turning people down."

George's neck almost snaps with how fast he lifts his face to stare at Fred, "What people?"

"Men, mostly."

"Very helpful." George remembers you mentioning something once about seeing someone, except he's sure it hadn't actually worked out. But that was one time, wasn't it?

"I'm serious. She's had a couple of offers lately."

"Offers?" A couple? George panics as gently as he can where he sits. There's a slim chance Fred is messing with him, but he also knows you're smart and pretty and funny. Of course there are people out there who want to go out with you.

Fred rolls his eyes. "Dates, George. Dates."

"And?"

"And she's said no."

"Why?"

Fred gives him a look. "Ask her yourself."

He's not going to do that, obviously, but not because he doesn't want to.

"Did she say who?"

Fred's cackle resonates through the room. "Oh, yes, she gave me a list and then we braided each other's hair."

Humiliated, George stands up and goes back to the kitchen to scrub his empty cereal bowl with more force than is strictly necessary.

"You know," Fred's voice follows him conversationally, "you're making this much harder than it needs to be."

There's not much else for George to clean, or otherwise keep himself occupied with. He knows Fred is right—liking you isn't hard. It comes to him as easily as breathing. Doing something about it shouldn't be either. The opposite, really.

Shouldn't the fact that you asked him, and not someone else, to be your fake boyfriend count for something?

He allows himself this small victory.

∗

More often than not, you did things without much thinking before or afterwards. You kissed George on a whim; you hadn’t thought about it when you stepped inside his room, and after, you only allowed yourself a few minutes to freak out before snapping back.

The Nessa situation had been the same; you didn’t want to overthink it a lot, so you went with the first option your mind had conjured, Daphne, and you stuck to it without fixating on whether she was the best candidate or not. Everything that came afterwards had been just as fast. 

Even the bet on itself.

You had never thought you were going to strike a deal with George; it had been something that came to your mind and said it as if it wasn’t that big of a deal—at that time it hadn’t been.

Perhaps you should’ve overthought that to let the idea simmer in your mind. If it hadn’t been because you applied your usual logic to the deal, then you wouldn’t be here, overthinking something you had no agency over.

All your distraction methods had failed; not even begging Cedric to play a friendly match had served to stop your mind for even a second.

You wanted to slam your head against the wall so that you would stop thinking about it. There was nothing you could do to change the outcome. No matter how much your thoughts circulated over the same thing, the fact remained the same.

George hadn’t replied to your love confession.

You scrunched your face and slammed your face against your arithmancy book, a groan escaping from your lips when you caught yourself thinking about it for the third time since the day started.

Getting over it was proving to be harder than it had been three years ago. At that time, you had done everything in your power not to think about it, and eventually you had forgotten you even had a crush on George. Now that you knew what it was like to be held in his hands, to be kissed and touched by him, it was so difficult to turn your brain off.

Sighing, you went back to rereading the same page you had been reading since you stepped into the library. You were able to read through until the next page when a hand on your shoulder took you by surprise.

For a moment, you almost pronounced George’s name, but then you turned your head and saw that the boy by your side wasn’t your… fake boyfriend.

A brunette Ravenclaw who took Arithmancy with you and usually sat down in the front row of the classroom looked at you with shy eyes that made the irritated edge in your eyes disappear.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked, marking the page you had been reading.

“Do you have a partner?” he blurted out.

You cocked a brow up, about to answer when he shook his head and settled the books he was carrying down on the table.

“I mean, an arithmancy partner… for the final project.” He clarified, biting his lip. “Mine just ditched me.”

“There’s a bit more than a month until the end of term; do you think I don’t?” You blinked a few times, feigning offence. He blushed and stammered, trying to find the correct words. “I don’t.” You chuckled. “Don’t worry. We can partner together.”

His face illuminated like fireworks. “Really? I was resigning myself to finish it alone; you see, my partner decided she liked another group’s idea better, so she spoke to the professor, and they agreed to let her move partners if I was able to get another partner, too.” He explained, barely taking a breath between sentences. “I was really nervous because Natalia said I'd better get with someone or I would be paying the consequences. Her father works at the Ministry, you see? Head of the Department I want to work at so—”

You covered his mouth with your palm. “Listen to me… what’s your name?”

"Jason," he muffled out.

“Listen to me, Jason. If we are going to work together, you better keep the talking to a normal speed.” You nodded at him, eyes twitching. He nodded back. “And no more than fifteen words at a time.”

He did a military salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

You smirked. “Good.”

***

Plenty of things had changed, and at the same time, plenty of things remained the same.

George and you didn’t stop kissing; actually, you started doing it even more, not just the quick press of lips they usually did in public. Pecks that quickly turned into snogs and heavy breaths taken amidst the growing warmth of the room.

Everything had changed.

Yet there was something in the air. Charged with a tinge of unspoken things George didn’t know how to voice. It was slightly suffocating, completely heavy and utterly puzzling.

He had, for the first time, fully enjoyed being with someone. He had found arousing being touched like that in a deeper way than only a quick release. His mind kept replaying in his head that day with a mental clarity that he had never had after any encounter.

Because of you, George had found what it was to feel defenceless in the devastatingly pleasurable way, to not feel like he needed to think of ways to please when he himself felt not pleased at all.

It had been so different from what he felt while under the influence of what he had been commanded to feel while Jane—

No, he couldn’t think of that. 

With you, he hadn’t needed to think; everything came naturally, like breathing. He knew what you liked based on the way your breath hitched and your moans became whinier; he correctly guessed when you didn’t find it enjoyable by the way your fingers would start playing with his hair.

And if he hurt you, you had no qualms about saying so and making him find the way to make you feel the same way he was feeling.

George and you had had many trial-and-error encounters, each more satisfying than the previous.

He didn’t even know how to put into words how much he loved spending time with you, kissing you, and making love to you. Nothing mattered when he was with you; his mind blanked with the blissfulness of being in your presence.

Words tangled in his tongue whenever he tried to voice his feelings, something heavy settling on his chest.

It filled him with doubt. And doubt was his greatest enemy.

The matter wasn’t whether George was in love with you or not anymore. The heart of the problem fell on the fact that George had spent so many weeks thinking of you as his fake girlfriend, pretending he was in love, that he didn’t know if what he felt was real or just the acting bleeding into reality.

If after all this time he couldn’t even pronounce those three words, then maybe all that wasn’t love but a powerful imitation after months of feigning said love.

All these thoughts only got to him when he was away from you. Away from your eyes that sang to him and showed him just how powerful a touch, a whispered praise, or a smile could be.

Worst of all, you were catching up.

George had said the first day of being together—when you had kissed him for the first time—that he had no intention of hurting you, yet he had failed. Because he had no answers, and you had been looking for them ever since that time you had told him you were still in love with him.

Despite him not wanting to think of it, the words replayed in his mind again and again like a broken record: I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise.

No had; you had used 'have'.

You didn’t press him in the slightest; on the contrary, you hadn’t mentioned it again ever since. But he could see the way you were constantly looking for something in his eyes.

And after a while you simply stopped searching.

That subtle change had been pretty noticeable. For him, at least.

You never stopped kissing him, never prevented him from touching, hugging, or even stealing every bit of your personal space, but the small changes didn’t go unnoticed. Kisses weren’t as heated as before; you pulled away first from the hugs and didn’t initiate the touches.

A great part of that was his selective muteness.

“What is up with you?”

The sudden voice of a woman took him out of his thoughts, and when he turned around, he was face to face with his dear old sister. She had a magazine in her hand and a Muggle pen in the other.

“What’s up with what?” said George, confused as he scooted to the side on the Gryffindor sofa.

“With that long face.” She plopped herself on the couch, slapping him on the thigh as she did so.

George quickly hissed and rubbed his skin. “Nothing happened, you psycho.”

“Something must have,” she muttered. “Which leads me to: What’s an emotional and physical state of deep longing or distraction caused by romantic attachment?” She read the clue of the crossword she was doing in the magazine.

George’s smile turned downwards, thinking. “Infatuation?”

“Close, lovesick," Ginny corrected as she wrote the word. “Just like you.”

He groaned and sprawled all over the couch. “I’m not lovesick.”

“You get this kind of look on your face when you think of her,” Ginny said, then she imitated him.

She put on a pathetically stupid face of someone completely in love and besotted with their partner.

“Like you two years ago with Harry?” He asked, regretting it right after the words came out of his mouth.

That earned a hard punch on his shoulder, making him yelp and shove her away.

“Just because you can’t accept you’re in love with her doesn’t mean you have to be so mean, you arsehole.” She hissed.

“You’re right, I was an idiot, sorry.” He said quickly.

“Damn right.”

Ginny went back to finish the crossroads, and George looked at her as she completed it.

He thought of her words, mulling them over. There were three weeks until the end of the term, and then summer break was waiting for them. Meaning that their breaking-up date was nearing, and he had absolutely no clue what he was going to do.

Did he want to continue whatever you two had? The answer came quickly.

Yes.

Was he in love with you because of all the time you two had spent together or because they had confused real with fake? That was the answer eluded him.

“Do you think I’m in love with her?” George suddenly asked Ginny, tone low and hesitant.

“Yes,” she simply said.

“What if it’s confusion?”

“Think of this." She turned to George. “Imagine you’re getting married to her.”

“What?!” He screamed/whispered.

Ginny clicked her tongue. “Do it. Not now, but in, like, ten years.”

George squinted at her, but then he did it.

Walking down the aisle with a beautiful white gown and bouquet that didn’t match the perfection of you. Hair perfectly styled and face so bright it almost blinded him.

You reached him, and he could almost smell the scent of your lip balm. Lemon.

He was seeing a star, the brightest in the whole sky. No, it wasn’t a star, nor a sun. You were the solar system, the entire Milky Way.

Shining, radiant, resplendent, luminescent. Making him rack his brain for the appropriate words.

The idea, contrary to scare him, filled him with indescribable emotions. In the future, you are going to be the most mesmerising bride.

“Now imagine she’s marrying another lad.”

The image shattered like glass.

He couldn’t even find a face to the prick saying yes to marrying you, but he knew he didn’t deserve to be with you. He smiled the wrong way, he said the wrong things, and you were much too perfect for someone like that.

Yet you smiled at him, and George, as a guest, could do nothing but watch as his imagination conjured the most painful thought ever: you in love and happy with another.

Smiling the same way you smiled at him, kissing him just the way you kissed George, looking at him like he hung the stars. All of what was supposed to be his.

His heart squeezed painfully, as if needles were piercing it constantly, and breathing became harder as the tears threatened to spill. 

“Do you have the answer?” Ginny took him out of his imagination.

George swallowed hard, then nodded. “But that only proves I don't want anyone else to have her."

"George."

"That's not love."

He had been able to imagine so vividly you in love with another because he knew how those gestures looked on you. And imagining that being directed at another but him was truly the worst image his brain made up.

“Is not love, but you don’t get cold feet at the idea of marrying her?” she asked, raising a brow. “George, I’ve seen the way you look at her; you are a satellite, and she’s your moon. When was the last time you felt like you ever had to fake anything with her because of the bet?” 

He didn’t answer. The truth was that, most of the time, he forgot that the reason he got to hold you now was because of a bet. Those brief times that he did remember it, the threat of the ending was what terrified him. 

Not the fact that everything had diverged from what he had originally planned. 

Or that his heart was the most at peace when he was with you, so full of… 

Love. 

“Everything stopped being an act the moment you started to want to spend time with her.” Ginny rolled the magazine and hit his head with it. “You are in love with her. Probably for longer than you can think of. Sisters know best.”

Irrevocably, it didn’t matter if it had been confusion or anything else; he was in love with you.

***

The day you decided to take Arithmancy as an optative was the day you definitely lost your mind; Ancient Runes wasn’t nearly as complicated as the first, and it had no final project that required hours of extensive research in the library while you had a nerdy boy freaking out over it.

Ever since Jason had come to you, proposing to be your partner, the days had turned into long hours sitting at a table, open books and losing their composure to try and merge your projects. You had every intention of doing the project alone, having none of your friends with you in that class, and with the majority of the people already partnered, you had just shrugged and begun doing it alone.

Doing it alone meant that nobody would look at you as if they were about to cry because you cut them mid-sentence when they were explaining things.

Jason was like a lost puppy, trailing after you from the library to the arithmancy classroom and from the classroom to the library once again. Staring at you with doe eyes as he munched on some healthy snack and wrote down the ideas you said.

The project had proven to be hard. You and him had had different ideas, so combining them into one coherent and cohesive thing had been hard. Much of your time had been consumed by it, paired with studying for the other subject’s final exams.

You had had to lift Jay’s mood more than once after their study dates in the library, once or twice having to dry his tears while rolling your eyes and wishing you had been stronger and refused him.

It was a matter of time before you found your first grey hair.

“Love!”

You turned towards George, who was running down the hall towards you.

Smiling, you started speaking. “Hell—” and were promptly cut off by George slamming against you and lifting you in the air. “Put me down!” you shrieked.

George chuckled but did as you said, planting a long kiss on your lips before separating himself from you. His long fingers placed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You froze. "Blister," you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I forgot.”

Today, he had agreed to show you the secret passage to Hogsmeade like he had promised to do months ago. You had been looking forward to it until it slipped out of your mind.

“What?” George’s face fell for a few seconds before he schooled it.

“Jason is waiting for me in the library.” You grimaced. “We agreed that today we would finish the first draft of the final project of Arithmancy and show it to Vector before the day ends.”

“But you wanted to use the passage since forever.” He pouted.

It only made you want to bite his lip. And you did it, placing a small kiss when he yelped. You didn’t deepen it, closing your eyes to enjoy the softness of his lips against yours.

“I know, but this project is important," you mumbled, squeezing his shoulders. “I will try to finish it as soon as possible; then I’ll meet you in your room. How about that?”

“To do what?” His tone dropped.

You smirked. “Whatever you want.”

“Okay.”

You saw it coming, so you closed your eyes and waited for the kiss. But before his lips could touch yours, Jason appeared behind you both, calling your name and startling you both.

“Sorry!” he said loudly. “I didn’t know.”

Jason’s blush made you chuckle. If you were a prude, then Jay was even worse than you, to the point that even the mention of kissing would make him blush and stutter.

“It’s alright, Jay.” You smiled softly at the boy before turning to George.

George wasn’t smiling anymore; rather, his face was contorted in a grimace, stuck between anger and disgust as he looked at Jason. It was very clear that your (fake) boyfriend didn’t like your new friend at all.

More than that, his contempt turned the temperature of the hallway colder, and a shiver ran down your spine when his jaw tensed.

In a way, it was hot, too.

He seemed all bothered and mad and… jealous. It made you wish you could drag him out of the place and snog him silly.

But Jason was timidly waiting, and George shouldn’t be angry at the ball of nerves in the middle of the hallway because he was the one who had left you without answers. And you had stopped looking for them.

Perhaps you had overthought a lot, but you knew that he had to have some feeling for you, but he either didn’t accept them, or they weren’t as strong as yours. So you'd rather stop searching for the hurtful truth.

You had been the one who had to deal with the consequences of voicing your feelings, watching as every day without answers broke you a little more. It was a pain much worse than that of petty jealousy. 

So, being jealous was on him, really. Jason was only a classmate.

“See you in a few hours, okay?” You smiled at George.

Something dark shone in his eyes. “Okay.”

Going on your tippy-toes, you placed a kiss on his cheek before strutting away, grabbing Jason’s hand. And if you felt George’s gaze boring holes in your back, you’d rather not think about it.

***

At the end of the day, you and Jay ended up staying until curfew in the library, but luckily you both had finished the draft of the project and would be able to present it to Professor Vector the next day.

Once you had parted ways, you were so tired you had completely forgotten to go to the Gryffindor Tower, and you only remembered to go once your body hit your bed. By that time, you had no energy to climb up the seven floors, and when you least realised it, you fell asleep.

When you woke up, startled by the sound of your last alarm, your brain finally caught up with what you had neglected yesterday.

Uh-oh.

Quickly, you took a shower and changed into fresh clothes, going downstairs to see if you would be able to catch George. He was always the first to arrive at the Great Hall, and you had taken to matching his schedule so you both could have a bit of time for yourselves before starting your classes.

Practically flying down the stairs, you hadn’t noticed the person sitting on the couch in front of the bonfire until your hand was caught when you had one foot off the Hufflepuff House.

“Where are you going?" George said.

“George!” You turned around, startled, before hugging him. “I woke up so late; I was going to look for you.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m here.”

You blinked, hands resting on his shoulders as you pulled away. “Yes, I know. I thought you were already going to class.”

“You didn’t have breakfast," he mumbled.

“I was going to skip it. I woke up, like, ten minutes ago.” You spoke.

Something in his face shifted; it wasn’t a pissed-off look like he had yesterday, but he wasn’t jumping on one leg from happiness either. It wasn’t even a weird middle ground. He was… blue.

“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t—”

Words were left hanging in the air as his lips crashed into yours in a slow, deep kiss.

His breath mixed with your minty one, and the lack of flavour other than your toothpaste made you remember you hadn’t applied any lip balm. Though you could be disappointed, it tasted slightly sweet, probably from eating a pastry.

The snog lasted for long minutes, when your back had been pressed against the exit door, and his long fingers curled on your nape, sending shivers down your spine.

When he let you go, not before biting your lower lip, you already forgot what you were intending to apologise for.

“Let’s skip class," he mumbled.

At that, fully knowing that there was a trick to get him into your room, you nodded slightly, dazed.

One noise of which you heard getting painfully stifled when you threw a hanger at his chest upon entering your bedroom.

He caught it in bed, huffing softly to himself as he watched you carry its hangee to your vanity. A dark flowing silk material pooled over your arm, trailing behind you like a cloak when you poured it onto the back of your seat. 

You’d recently bought the dress from Hogsmeade. Your wardrobe, after all these years it felt, had grown too bland for a night with girlfriends, and so naturally you dragged George to Gladrags and had him admire you in various different apparels until you found one that made his pupils dilate.

The one on your chair just so happened to be the one. 

“What time will you be leaving, love?” George murmured from the bed behind you. 

You took a few careful hands to your styled hair, glancing at your beloved in the mirror. 

“Around 8. We won't be gone for too long, if that's what you're worried about.”

“No, not at all. It's just…it's currently 6. And you're already getting dressed?”

Leaning back, you pulled a small bag from a drawer and sifted through the various eyeshadows and eyeliners inside.

You sniggered gently. 

“You underestimate the art of ‘getting ready.’”

George grinned. He could never say he was much for planning a look. He and Fred knew as much to dress alike, and even then, they’d mess it up 5 minutes before schedule. 

“I suppose I do.” He replied after so long, fiddling with the hanger in hand before tossing it aside. 

His eyes traced your moving shoulders and the reflection of your focused face applying mascara.

Soon enough, however, they zipped down to that idle dress, moving lightly with the breeze of an open window. The colour shimmered in the sunset, and all his mind could picture was that silk sliding down your legs. 

George could remember you walking out of that dressing room, still fumbling with the straps. He wasn't an expert in women’s wear but the way your dress managed to tighten over your hips and curve comfortingly around your breasts was enough to tell him that the designer knew what they were doing. 

And that he hasn't changed at all from that clumsy 7th year with a raging boner for his potions partner. 

He watched you closely as you finished up the last of your lipgloss, gaze never leaving you even as you stood up and stretched. 

You began to undress, and in a moment of humble muscle memory, George looked away. Staring at the wood plated floors, however, was much too boring for him, and he eventually looked up to see you already stepping into your dress and hiding your legs. 

He frowned, somewhat disappointed.

Oh, but the way you spun around and curled the straps over your shoulders. Your skin was smooth and illuminated by the vanity light in front of you, casting an amber aura around your entire body when you pulled the last of your top up. 

Your back curved, spine dipping down down into the waist of your dress, and George couldn’t stop ogling at the dimples above your ass. 

Merlin, you were beautiful. Your hair in its most perfect shape and a contented smile poised on your glistening lips. 

George’s mind wandered. Those hands of yours reaching back to tighten up the loose fabric, instead sliding down his front. Unbuttoning his shirt and pulling at his trousers. That mouth that spoke words he couldn't hear, instead wrapped tenderly around his cock. Sucking. Licking, and—

“Please, dear?”

He flinched. 

You were much closer to him now than you were before. Your back was facing him, exposing the open end of your dress. 

“I can't zip it up myself.” You added, your voice soft with trust. 

George stammered and straightened up in bed. 

“Sorry, what? You mean help?”

A grin spread on your face, followed by a giggle. “Well, yeah. Haven't you ever fixed up a girl’s dress before?”

Your boyfriend leaned in, only to feel a very humiliating weight on his thigh. He swallowed tightly, glancing down at his lap. He was already half hard and it seemed to be worsening with every breath he took. 

“Can't say I have.” He mumbled. 

Your head reached over your shoulder to glare at him; only when you did, he was scrabbling a pillow to his person. Particularly, over his crotch. 

Hesitantly, you spoke. 

“Georgie, you alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn't I be? I…just a little under the weather, is all.”

You turned around completely to place a hand on his forehead, brushing his ginger hair from his brow. He’d let it grow out since you last said you liked it lengthy. 

“Hm. You don't feel warm,” your brow furrowed, your hand dragging back down his face and palming his cheek, “I’ll buy some ginger while I’m out later. I could make you some tea.”

George reached up for your wrist, pulling it down easily, “I swear, I’m fine.”

With a doubtful click of your tongue, you nodded and turned back around. 

“Fine. Then just help me out here so I can show you the full outfit before I leave.”

His hands trembled slightly as they obeyed, reaching for your hips to pull you closer. His fingers splayed out across the smooth surface, squeezing subconsciously. All he could think about was how close you were, how vulnerable and open, and how long it's been since he’s had the chance to touch you. Really touch you. 

Clumsy fingers gripped the zip ahead of him, an even clumsier left hand flattening out the fabric so it would slide along the teeth with ease. 

George’s chest fell as he hid the last of your spine, patting softly when he’d completed.

“There we go.” He groaned. 

By now, he was painfully hard. He was in relatively comfortable trousers, yes, but he could feel the rest of his body heating up in unison. If he didn't do something now, he might just melt into the mattress. 

You double checked yourself in the mirror, twisting around in glee before striding back up to him to place a kiss on his head. 

“Thank you, darling.”

Pulling back to get your shoes, you felt his arms wrap around your torso, his face burying into your stomach. 

“Don't leave.” 

Oh. You froze immediately, hands dropping to his shoulders. You could feel his breath hot and heavy against your dress, a suppressed whine at the end of every heave. George’s legs slid off the edge of the bed, the pillow falling suit, until he was trapping you by one leg between his knees.

As you looked down, you saw a ruffled patch of red hair, a trembling man, and the outline of his cock in his trousers. 

There was a flutter in your chest, one that spilled all the way down between your legs, and you pet his head. 

“…Darling, I can’t now. I’ve got to leave in an hour.”

He whimpers. George whimpers, like a puppy. He nuzzles his face even more into your body, tilting his head up so that his chin rests just below your sternum.

“I’ll be quick. I’ll be so quick,” he pleads, “It's been so long, with you always at work. That's why I was so happy for you to have this night out, but…oh, please.”

You chewed your lip. The sun was almost done setting, and you watched as the hands on the clock above your door stretched nearer to 8. But he was asking so nicely, and he was…

He was pulling you closer by the thigh with his knees, his hips lazily dragging up in a desperate attempt at friction. He was trying to hump you. 

The last threads of inhibition snapped in your head and you directed all your focus to the mess you called sweetheart in front of you. Your knee buckled slightly, shifting forward to rock into George’s crotch, assisting him in his weak act of foreplay. 

“Yes. Fuck, thank you. Thank you.” He panted, grinding slower into your thigh. 

You were now dipping your weight into the bed, hands planted carefully still on his shoulders. His arms stayed wrapped around your body, his cheek now rested upon your collarbone. 

Unable to stop the smile that arose from your face, you giggled softly, kneeing a bit harder. 

“You’re so eager, George. Does it hurt?”

He nodded urgently, “Mhm. Y-Yeah…a lot.”

Your fingers curled around the hair at his nape, tugging his head up from your chest to see the way his chocolate eyes have glazed over. They were almost black in arousal. 

“You've really needed me that bad,” your voice is one of realization more than anything, but you turn back to your original taunting when you see him wincing, “what have you been doing the whole time I’ve been gone?”

George blushes even more than before. His eyes dart away, necked turned down as he tries to focus on how hard you’re pressing into his dick, and how much it's making him lightheaded.

“Erm. I-I was doing my own work. Alone.”

You nodded. Right. 

“Surely. Did your work have anything to do with this?” Your hand shot down, replacing your knee with your palm. You squeezed tenderly at the troubled shaft between his legs, and he moaned. 

“Ah…!”

George bucked in response, looking back up at you through his lashes. 

“That doesn't matter. You're here now, right?” he tried to stabilise his breath, “I’m here with you, finally. And it's really…really…oh, love.”

You’d started to stroke him up and down through the taut fabric, thumbing at the bump of his tip. You kissed his head again. 

“Lie back, dear.”

He listened. He always listened. 

George scooted his way back up to the headboard, arms trembling beside him. You crawled fully onto the mattress, not bothering to adjust the way your skirt rode up your thighs—it was making his cock twitch anyway. 

Teasing fingers walked up his lap and danced over the waistband of his trousers before tugging them down, the elastic bowing with ease. Now you could really see him in those trunks. The last of the material over his manhood was now stretched translucent, the drool of his precum not helping much in concealing his state of dishevelment. 

“Oh my. You seem to be very full of yourself.”

“Whuh–What?” George’s eyes darted up from your hands to your own gaze. 

“How long were you staring at me while you were like this? And you didn't tell me?”

His lips pursed as he swallowed, eyebrows knotting together, “If it's anything, not until recent, actually. And I didn't want to interrupt you while you were preparing.”

You lazily reached for his cock, rubbing down the length, feeling how hot and damp the fabric of his trunks have gotten. George tensed, his entire body jerking. 

“You didn't seem to mind interrupting just earlier. With your whole needy-boy act.” Your lips curled in such a sadistic way, it startled even you. 

The Weasley in front of you groaned, his hips lifting up off the mattress subconsciously.

“Yeah, well, you were the one who listened to me. That's rule one for anyone! Don't listen to me.”

Admittedly, you both laughed breathily at that. In his chuckling, weakened state, you managed George out of his underwear and into your inviting palm. He chewed the inside of his cheek whilst you marveled at him. 

He was thick, pink, and the underside of his shaft was so tense and prominent that it looked painful. Truthfully, it was. He wasn't the biggest man (though, reportedly, he was bigger than his brother), but he was enough for you. There was a faint scar on his shaft that marked his circumcision, and your thumb followed the line of him up to his tip. 

It was glossy and still darkening. You almost felt bad for even allowing him to see you in tonight’s getup. But this was much too great. 

You gave one, very faint stroke with the pads of your fingers, watching as the member before you swayed with life. George panted. His chest dipped deep in heavy breaths, filling back up only halfway with stifled air. 

He really needed this.

After so long of dragging him through agonizingly lazy motions, your hand squeezed around him. You could feel the beat of his blood against your palm. His stomach fluttered and George let out another whimper, biting it back with his teeth before letting it dissolve into yet another moan, this time, one of your name. 

He rocked gingerly into the cave of your hand, lips parted in trembling suffocation. Nails tugging at the bedspread, George sobbed.

“Faster. Please. Not enough.”

“Don't critique me.” You answered quickly. 

His noises puddled into something more obedient. When he’d gathered himself into a neat, quiet ball of contained pleasure, you picked up the pace of your wrist, wanking him now with a speed that made him yelp. 

“Merlin’s—! Oh, f-fuck…” 

George pressed a hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles when your thumb and index pressed at his cockhead. You watched the clear stream of pre-cum weep from there and down his shaft, the viscosity thickening each time you dared rub a thumb over his slit. 

His thighs flexed by your arm, knees pulling up and dropping back down again. He was close. If not for how much George’s body was stuttering, you could tell by the way he was biting his lip, eyes half rolled back into his lids. 

You purred, lips pressing experimentally to his tip. A curious tongue slipped out to taste that salty mixture, a heavy weight washing over you when you realized you were just as wet. You’d practically been humping the blanket beneath you this entire time. 

“You close?” 

George nodded quickly. 

“Use your words.”

Shivering, he croaked, "Yes. Yes’m…I’m gonna…gonna come, please…”

“Right. Here, baby…”

You lifted up on your haunches, using both hands now to work him apart. One focused at the base of his shaft while the other stroked smoothly along his head, causing tremors all throughout his body. 

“Love, I—” he could barely speak, only mumbling your name in swift breaths like a prayer before his head tipped back into the headboard. He bared his throat as a deep, guttural moan tore its way from his stomach. 

George shot lengthy and heavy spurts of cum across his stomach and down both your hands, his cock tightening in pulses as he emptied himself. He’d made a mess of the bed below him before he was diminished to the last few dribbles of release that slipped down onto your fingers, which you proudly withdrew from his person and placed into your mouth. 

Once he’d caught his breath and worked himself back into his trousers, he made an effort to clean up what he could. He had been discarding his shirt when you walked back into the bedroom, this time with heels and a bag, twirling about. 

“What do you think? Got it all put together still with 30 minutes to spare.” You spoke gleefully, finally able to showcase your entire outfit. 

George admired you with affectionate eyes, striding closer so that he could hold your face in his hands. 

“I think you look absolutely stunning,” he said lovingly, “you feel alright enough to go out?”

You nodded, patting his bare chest. “Yes, of course. I can take care of myself later.”

He let go when you kissed the tip of his nose, pecking his lips as an informal ‘see you later.’

Except, when you turned, you felt a hand slide up your back, fingers pulling down slightly at the zip of your dress. 

“You said you still had 30 minutes?”

One noise of which you heard getting painfully stifled when you threw a hanger at his chest upon entering your bedroom.

He caught it in bed, huffing softly to himself as he watched you carry its hangee to your vanity. A dark flowing silk material pooled over your arm, trailing behind you like a cloak when you poured it onto the back of your seat. 

You’d recently bought the dress from Hogsmeade. Your wardrobe, after all these years it felt, had grown too bland for a night with girlfriends, and so naturally you dragged George to Gladrags and had him admire you in various different apparels until you found one that made his pupils dilate.

The one on your chair just so happened to be the one. 

“What time will you be leaving, love?” George murmured from the bed behind you. 

You took a few careful hands to your styled hair, glancing at your beloved in the mirror. 

“Around 8. We won't be gone for too long, if that's what you're worried about.”

“No, not at all. It's just…it's currently 6. And you're already getting dressed?”

Leaning back, you pulled a small bag from a drawer and sifted through the various eyeshadows and eyeliners inside.

You sniggered gently. 

“You underestimate the art of ‘getting ready.’”

George grinned. He could never say he was much for planning a look. He and Fred knew as much to dress alike, and even then, they’d mess it up 5 minutes before schedule. 

“I suppose I do.” He replied after so long, fiddling with the hanger in hand before tossing it aside. 

His eyes traced your moving shoulders and the reflection of your focused face applying mascara.

Soon enough, however, they zipped down to that idle dress, moving lightly with the breeze of an open window. The colour shimmered in the sunset, and all his mind could picture was that silk sliding down your legs. 

George could remember you walking out of that dressing room, still fumbling with the straps. He wasn't an expert in women’s wear but the way your dress managed to tighten over your hips and curve comfortingly around your breasts was enough to tell him that the designer knew what they were doing. 

And that he hasn't changed at all from that clumsy 7th year with a raging boner for his potions partner. 

He watched you closely as you finished up the last of your lipgloss, gaze never leaving you even as you stood up and stretched. 

You began to undress, and in a moment of humble muscle memory, George looked away. Staring at the wood plated floors, however, was much too boring for him, and he eventually looked up to see you already stepping into your dress and hiding your legs. 

He frowned, somewhat disappointed.

Oh, but the way you spun around and curled the straps over your shoulders. Your skin was smooth and illuminated by the vanity light in front of you, casting an amber aura around your entire body when you pulled the last of your top up. 

Your back curved, spine dipping down down into the waist of your dress, and George couldn’t stop ogling at the dimples above your ass. 

Merlin, you were beautiful. Your hair in its most perfect shape and a contented smile poised on your glistening lips. 

George’s mind wandered. Those hands of yours reaching back to tighten up the loose fabric, instead sliding down his front. Unbuttoning his shirt and pulling at his trousers. That mouth that spoke words he couldn't hear, instead wrapped tenderly around his cock. Sucking. Licking, and—

“Please, dear?”

He flinched. 

You were much closer to him now than you were before. Your back was facing him, exposing the open end of your dress. 

“I can't zip it up myself.” You added, your voice soft with trust. 

George stammered and straightened up in bed. 

“Sorry, what? You mean help?”

A grin spread on your face, followed by a giggle. “Well, yeah. Haven't you ever fixed up a girl’s dress before?”

Your boyfriend leaned in, only to feel a very humiliating weight on his thigh. He swallowed tightly, glancing down at his lap. He was already half hard and it seemed to be worsening with every breath he took. 

“Can't say I have.” He mumbled. 

Your head reached over your shoulder to glare at him; only when you did, he was scrabbling a pillow to his person. Particularly, over his crotch. 

Hesitantly, you spoke. 

“Georgie, you alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn't I be? I…just a little under the weather, is all.”

You turned around completely to place a hand on his forehead, brushing his ginger hair from his brow. He’d let it grow out since you last said you liked it lengthy. 

“Hm. You don't feel warm,” your brow furrowed, your hand dragging back down his face and palming his cheek, “I’ll buy some ginger while I’m out later. I could make you some tea.”

George reached up for your wrist, pulling it down easily, “I swear, I’m fine.”

With a doubtful click of your tongue, you nodded and turned back around. 

“Fine. Then just help me out here so I can show you the full outfit before I leave.”

His hands trembled slightly as they obeyed, reaching for your hips to pull you closer. His fingers splayed out across the smooth surface, squeezing subconsciously. All he could think about was how close you were, how vulnerable and open, and how long it's been since he’s had the chance to touch you. Really touch you. 

Clumsy fingers gripped the zip ahead of him, an even clumsier left hand flattening out the fabric so it would slide along the teeth with ease. 

George’s chest fell as he hid the last of your spine, patting softly when he’d completed.

“There we go.” He groaned. 

By now, he was painfully hard. He was in relatively comfortable trousers, yes, but he could feel the rest of his body heating up in unison. If he didn't do something now, he might just melt into the mattress. 

You double checked yourself in the mirror, twisting around in glee before striding back up to him to place a kiss on his head. 

“Thank you, darling.”

Pulling back to get your shoes, you felt his arms wrap around your torso, his face burying into your stomach. 

“Don't leave.” 

Oh. You froze immediately, hands dropping to his shoulders. You could feel his breath hot and heavy against your dress, a suppressed whine at the end of every heave. George’s legs slid off the edge of the bed, the pillow falling suit, until he was trapping you by one leg between his knees.

As you looked down, you saw a ruffled patch of red hair, a trembling man, and the outline of his cock in his trousers. 

There was a flutter in your chest, one that spilled all the way down between your legs, and you pet his head. 

“…Darling, I can’t now. I’ve got to leave in an hour.”

He whimpers. George whimpers, like a puppy. He nuzzles his face even more into your body, tilting his head up so that his chin rests just below your sternum.

“I’ll be quick. I’ll be so quick,” he pleads, “It's been so long, with you always at work. That's why I was so happy for you to have this night out, but…oh, please.”

You chewed your lip. The sun was almost done setting, and you watched as the hands on the clock above your door stretched nearer to 8. But he was asking so nicely, and he was…

He was pulling you closer by the thigh with his knees, his hips lazily dragging up in a desperate attempt at friction. He was trying to hump you. 

The last threads of inhibition snapped in your head and you directed all your focus to the mess you called sweetheart in front of you. Your knee buckled slightly, shifting forward to rock into George’s crotch, assisting him in his weak act of foreplay. 

“Yes. Fuck, thank you. Thank you.” He panted, grinding slower into your thigh. 

You were now dipping your weight into the bed, hands planted carefully still on his shoulders. His arms stayed wrapped around your body, his cheek now rested upon your collarbone. 

Unable to stop the smile that arose from your face, you giggled softly, kneeing a bit harder. 

“You’re so eager, George. Does it hurt?”

He nodded urgently, “Mhm. Y-Yeah…a lot.”

Your fingers curled around the hair at his nape, tugging his head up from your chest to see the way his chocolate eyes have glazed over. They were almost black in arousal. 

“You've really needed me that bad,” your voice is one of realization more than anything, but you turn back to your original taunting when you see him wincing, “what have you been doing the whole time I’ve been gone?”

George blushes even more than before. His eyes dart away, necked turned down as he tries to focus on how hard you’re pressing into his dick, and how much it's making him lightheaded.

“Erm. I-I was doing my own work. Alone.”

You nodded. Right. 

“Surely. Did your work have anything to do with this?” Your hand shot down, replacing your knee with your palm. You squeezed tenderly at the troubled shaft between his legs, and he moaned. 

“Ah…!”

George bucked in response, looking back up at you through his lashes. 

“That doesn't matter. You're here now, right?” he tried to stabilise his breath, “I’m here with you, finally. And it's really…really…oh, love.”

You’d started to stroke him up and down through the taut fabric, thumbing at the bump of his tip. You kissed his head again. 

“Lie back, dear.”

He listened. He always listened. 

George scooted his way back up to the headboard, arms trembling beside him. You crawled fully onto the mattress, not bothering to adjust the way your skirt rode up your thighs—it was making his cock twitch anyway. 

Teasing fingers walked up his lap and danced over the waistband of his trousers before tugging them down, the elastic bowing with ease. Now you could really see him in those trunks. The last of the material over his manhood was now stretched translucent, the drool of his precum not helping much in concealing his state of dishevelment. 

“Oh my. You seem to be very full of yourself.”

“Whuh–What?” George’s eyes darted up from your hands to your own gaze. 

“How long were you staring at me while you were like this? And you didn't tell me?”

His lips pursed as he swallowed, eyebrows knotting together, “If it's anything, not until recent, actually. And I didn't want to interrupt you while you were preparing.”

You lazily reached for his cock, rubbing down the length, feeling how hot and damp the fabric of his trunks have gotten. George tensed, his entire body jerking. 

“You didn't seem to mind interrupting just earlier. With your whole needy-boy act.” Your lips curled in such a sadistic way, it startled even you. 

The Weasley in front of you groaned, his hips lifting up off the mattress subconsciously.

“Yeah, well, you were the one who listened to me. That's rule one for anyone! Don't listen to me.”

Admittedly, you both laughed breathily at that. In his chuckling, weakened state, you managed George out of his underwear and into your inviting palm. He chewed the inside of his cheek whilst you marveled at him. 

He was thick, pink, and the underside of his shaft was so tense and prominent that it looked painful. Truthfully, it was. He wasn't the biggest man (though, reportedly, he was bigger than his brother), but he was enough for you. There was a faint scar on his shaft that marked his circumcision, and your thumb followed the line of him up to his tip. 

It was glossy and still darkening. You almost felt bad for even allowing him to see you in tonight’s getup. But this was much too great. 

You gave one, very faint stroke with the pads of your fingers, watching as the member before you swayed with life. George panted. His chest dipped deep in heavy breaths, filling back up only halfway with stifled air. 

He really needed this.

After so long of dragging him through agonizingly lazy motions, your hand squeezed around him. You could feel the beat of his blood against your palm. His stomach fluttered and George let out another whimper, biting it back with his teeth before letting it dissolve into yet another moan, this time, one of your name. 

He rocked gingerly into the cave of your hand, lips parted in trembling suffocation. Nails tugging at the bedspread, George sobbed.

“Faster. Please. Not enough.”

“Don't critique me.” You answered quickly. 

His noises puddled into something more obedient. When he’d gathered himself into a neat, quiet ball of contained pleasure, you picked up the pace of your wrist, wanking him now with a speed that made him yelp. 

“Merlin’s—! Oh, f-fuck…” 

George pressed a hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles when your thumb and index pressed at his cockhead. You watched the clear stream of pre-cum weep from there and down his shaft, the viscosity thickening each time you dared rub a thumb over his slit. 

His thighs flexed by your arm, knees pulling up and dropping back down again. He was close. If not for how much George’s body was stuttering, you could tell by the way he was biting his lip, eyes half rolled back into his lids. 

You purred, lips pressing experimentally to his tip. A curious tongue slipped out to taste that salty mixture, a heavy weight washing over you when you realized you were just as wet. You’d practically been humping the blanket beneath you this entire time. 

“You close?” 

George nodded quickly. 

“Use your words.”

Shivering, he croaked, "Yes. Yes’m…I’m gonna…gonna come, please…”

“Right. Here, baby…”

You lifted up on your haunches, using both hands now to work him apart. One focused at the base of his shaft while the other stroked smoothly along his head, causing tremors all throughout his body. 

“Love, I—” he could barely speak, only mumbling your name in swift breaths like a prayer before his head tipped back into the headboard. He bared his throat as a deep, guttural moan tore its way from his stomach. 

George shot lengthy and heavy spurts of cum across his stomach and down both your hands, his cock tightening in pulses as he emptied himself. He’d made a mess of the bed below him before he was diminished to the last few dribbles of release that slipped down onto your fingers, which you proudly withdrew from his person and placed into your mouth. 

Once he’d caught his breath and worked himself back into his trousers, he made an effort to clean up what he could. He had been discarding his shirt when you walked back into the bedroom, this time with heels and a bag, twirling about. 

“What do you think? Got it all put together still with 30 minutes to spare.” You spoke gleefully, finally able to showcase your entire outfit. 

George admired you with affectionate eyes, striding closer so that he could hold your face in his hands. 

“I think you look absolutely stunning,” he said lovingly, “you feel alright enough to go out?”

You nodded, patting his bare chest. “Yes, of course. I can take care of myself later.”

He let go when you kissed the tip of his nose, pecking his lips as an informal ‘see you later.’

Except, when you turned, you felt a hand slide up your back, fingers pulling down slightly at the zip of your dress. 

“You said you still had 30 minutes?”

Y/n and Ginny were two peas in a pod. Y/n was there for Ginny when she found the mysterious journal that Y/n begged her to get rid of. And she was there when Sirius Black was roaming the castle, keeping an eye on Ginny’s back while Ginny did the same. Y/n was also there for the Quidditch World cup when they were all separated from each other in the forest. 

Y/n was there through it all. 

But so was George Weasley. 

Ever since Y/n could remember she had a crush on her best friend’s brother. It wasn’t intentional, goodness no. Y/n had tried to go out with many boys, but it never seemed to work out. And she hated that she had a crush on him because it seemed like she was invisible to him. 

George Weasley could never be into his little sister's best friend. They had practically grown up together. And there was no way he could be into her now that she was going into her 5th year, while he had dropped out in his last year. 

At least that’s what Y/n thought. 

After tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning, Y/n found herself in the dark kitchen, holding a glass of water. 

She looked out into the grass outside, and admired the stars. Y/n lived in the city with her muggle parents who seemingly wanted to remain in the fog about the wizarding war, but even they knew something was wrong in their daughter’s world. 

Y/n loved the nature around the burrow. It was peaceful, and gave her a sense of calm. Most of all down stairs she finally felt cool. 

“What’re you doing up so late?” Y/n jumped at the groggy voice. 

It was George. 

“Hot. Couldn’t sleep.” She shortly answered. Most of the conversations Y/n had with George were short. 

They were only short with George, Y/n had a really good relationship with Fred, and Ron. Even Bill, and Charlie when they were around. Her relationship with Percy was just fine before he had a spat with his family. 

The only strained relationship she had with one of Ginny’s brothers was George. 

She finally turned to see him. He was shirtless, and had only pajama pants on. Y/n couldn’t even blame him. She would be shirtless too if it was socially acceptable. He also grabbed a glass of water, but he sat at the table. 

“And why are you up so late?” Y/n questioned. Her body no longer facing the outside, but now leaned on the counter facing George. 

“Same reason as you. Can’t stand the heat.” 

Y/n shrugged, seemingly satisfied with his answer. 

A silence fell over the pair, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. 

George sighed. “Ready for school?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Really? You, George Weasley, are asking about school?” School wasn’t particularly his place of interest. 

George scoffed. “Just trying to make conversation.” 

“We’ve known each other for five years, you don’t think you could’ve made conversation then?” She sassily replied. Perhaps it was the heat, and years of frustration built up surrounding the boy in front of her. 

George stood, and walked over to her. “You have no idea.” 

Y/n looked up at George who was now inches away from her. “Of what? How you’re the only one in your family that seems to dislike me?” 

“I wish it was that.” George leaned down close to her, so close they could kiss before pulling away. He walked back to the table before finishing his cup of water and heading back up the stairs. “Goodnight, Y/n.” 

Y/n was confused, and hot in the face. What was he even saying? Implying? 

Despite her confusion, and frustration from her almost kiss with George she finished her glass of water and headed back up the stairs. Y/n knew which creaky steps to avoid on her way up, and in the darkness she knew her way around well enough to get back to Ginny’s bedroom. Even then, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her on her way back to her best friend’s room. 

She settled back into the mat on the floor, deep in thought. Three years wasn’t that much of a gap. 

Y/n had grown since she met George, obviously puberty had hit. But her relationship had seemed to plateau after the first conversation. 

In the morning breakfast was the same, except this time both George and Y/n could feel a tension between them. 

Y/n tried to ignore it but it seemed like the twin just couldn’t. “Could you pass the sausages, Y/N/N?” George said, trying to remain neutral, but even Fred clocked a bit of irritation in his voice. 

“Sure.” She replied, not even looking up. 

The other siblings looked at each other but shrugged it off. 

Eventually the Weasley siblings, and Y/n were all scattered around the living room, when Mrs. Weasley announced that they were going to have dinner in the back yard that night for Hermione’s arrival, and that the yard needed Gnoming. 

Gnomes were nasty little buggers, and Y/n was not so keen on the idea of Gnoming. She had only ever done it once or twice before with the Weasleys. This time it was not optional. 

Despite the blistering sun, everyone grabbed a pair of gloves, and began to Gnome to yard. It was chaotic from the very beginning, Ron earning a nasty bite on his finger, and Y/n nearly getting a chunk of hair pulled out. 

Once all of the Gnomes were successfully driven away, the sun was beginning to set. Ginny and Y/n were tasked to set up the table while the boys brought the extra tables to the backyard. 

While the two girls were alone in the kitchen and washing up while they laughed about the numerous events during Gnoming, Ginny suddenly asked Y/n what was going on between her and her brother. 

“So, what’s been going on recently with you and George.” Ginny asked. Y/n never told Ginny about her crush on George. But she didn’t have to, they were best friends. She just knew. 

“What do you mean?” Y/n questioned, as she began to wash her hands. “You know George and I rarely talk.” 

“Yeah but this morning it was different. It was like you two were actually uncomfortable. Did he do something?” Ginny accused her brother, not wanting her friend to feel uncomfortable in her house as a guest. 

“No! Truly. It’s always a wonder staying here. I love the Burrow. It’s just…I don’t know, sometimes it feels like George is the only one that doesn’t like me in your family.” Y/n dried her hands and leaned on the counter with her hands crossed, mirroring Ginny. “I don’t know what I could’ve done to make him feel that way.” 

“I think it’s ‘cause he feels weird about fancying you.” Ginny snickered, Ginny looked out at her brothers who were fighting with the tables in the air. 

Y/n was utterly shocked. “Me? Fancy me? Your brother does not fancy me.” 

Ginny looked back at Y/n. “I’m serious. I think it’s the age gap thing, but honestly I think he has a bit of a crush on you. Always has. He does that thing when he gets nervous around you. It's hard to explain. He gets a bit quieter, and more nonchalant.” 

“I seriously doubt that Gin.” Y/n scoffed with a playful smile. 

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing. That way we can finally be sisters.” Ginny teased. 

Once Hermione, and Mr. Weasley arrived, dinner began. It was lovely to have dinner in nature, with the hum of nature and crickets in the background, while laughter and conversation filled the night. 

The sleep wasn’t that great for Y/n however. With three girls in one room, it became extremely overwhelming for Y/n. The heat was too much to bear, so she went downstairs for a glass of water. 

This time it was George waiting for her. 

“What are you doing down here?” She said, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. 

“Same reason as last night.” 

Y/n hummed in response. “So, are you gonna explain what you said last night or are you gonna leave me in the dark.” She sat next to him at the table. 

George shook his head. “You’re insufferable.” 

“Me? I haven’t even done anything.” 

“You’re just–so–” 

“So what?” 

“You! You’re just so you. You’re insufferably cute, insufferably nice, insufferably perfect, and insufferably too young.” 

“I’m not even that much younger than you!” Y/n argued. 

“It’s bad for me to want you.” 

“No it’s not. I’m older now. You’re not even that much older than me.” 

George dragged his hand over his face before giving in. He grabbed Y/n’s face and kissed her like he had been wanting to for years. Like he needed to have her. 

Y/n thought she was dreaming. The boy she’d had a crush on for years, liked her back, and was kissing her too. 

“Ginny is gonna be so mad.” George whispered. 

“She’s actually excited. Says we’re gonna be sisters.” 

"That makes me sound like a creep."

"Hm." Lee considers, "Not a creep. Last I checked, it's not illegal to have a crush. Just pathetic."

George barks a laugh and shakes his head. "Men and women can be just friends, you know. Maybe the concept is unfamiliar to you." 

Lee remains unfazed while he pours a dangerous amount of vodka into George's already brimming cup.

"Sure they can, Weasley. I have lots of lady friends, as you're well aware. I just don't think you in particular are capable of being friends with her."

"But we are."

"But you're not. Here, try it." Lee makes a little flourish with his hand before pushing the cup back to George.

"This smells radioactive."

"Good. How is it?"

The first sip leaves a burning trail down George's throat, although it's also surprisingly sweet. "Mm. Dangerous."

Lee claps his hands together once, pleased with himself. "Excellent. You know what's also dangerous? Keeping your feelings to yourself."

George snorts and then coughs, the vodka still clinging to his throat. Lee pats his back forcefully. "Jesus, what is this?"

"It's called a Vodka Martini. I'm taking a mixology course, you know."

"What?" 

"Mixology. Making drinks and shit. It's kinda like cooking but fun. Also looks good on your resume."

"Right, but you went to law school, Anthony Bourdain."

Lee waves his hand dismissively, "Job market's tough, man, you gotta get competitive."

George is not sure bartenders are in high demand right now, but doesn't stop to ponder the thought because he finally spots you.

You're wearing your hair down today, and it's a little matted with sweat on your forehead, probably because you've been dancing. His eyes trail a single drop of sweat down from your eyebrow to your neck and then your collarbone, where he forces himself to stop. 

"Disgusting," Lee says once again, following his line of sight. "Definitely not creepy at all." 

George kicks him on the shin.

You smile when you spot him before making your way to the kitchen, where Lee greets you with a wave. You look a little out of breath but happy. George’s hand twitches where it holds the kitchen counter.

"Georgie!"

Lee raises an eyebrow at the nickname, mouthing it back to him over your head. George pointedly ignores him.

"Hi, love," he says instead, making space for you underneath his arm. You slip into it comfortably, settling in between him and Lee. The latter hides a smirk behind the rim of his own glass. 

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka Martini,” George says, handing you his cup. 

“Double!” Lee adds cheerfully. 

“Oooh, I love those,” you take a big gulp before George can warn you against it. He watches as you scrunch your nose and exhale loudly, trying not to look too closely at the way your lip glistens. 

“What do you mean you love those? That could probably kill a horse.”

Lee snorts loudly, “Oh, Georgie, don’t be such a wet rag. All the cool kids are drinking these!”

“I have never even heard of a drink called Vodka Martini.”

“Well, you’re not exactly a cool kid, are you?” 

George feels your body shaking before he hears your laugh. He wonders if the smell of his cologne is as overwhelming to you as the smell of your perfume is to him. “Don’t be mean to our host, Lee.”

“I’ll have you know our host is a dictator,” Lee points a finger at George accusingly, his drink spilling a bit with the movement, “He hasn’t let me play a single song but still has me bartending and then on cleaning duty tomorrow.”

“I was the whole cleaning crew at your birthday party last year! You have Ron and Fred to help!”

“Oh, boys, don’t fight, you’re making me nervous!” You move to stand in front of both men, your cup already half empty. 

George wonders briefly how you’ll be getting home, tries not to relish the fact that you’re well on your way to being drunk, which means you’ll probably end up sleeping over again. Not that that would involve any kind of intimacy: he always takes the couch so you can have his room and Lee the guest room. Still, the thought of your perfume lingering on his pillow case is thrilling enough.

“Besides,” you add, “I came to ask George something.”

“Ask away,” he says, secretly pleased that you came looking for him, specifically. 

“It’s private.”

Lee lets out a low whistle, already backing away from where you both stand. “Have fun, then! I’ll be out there if you need me, near the sound system.”

“Play something good!” You call after him.

Lee salutes you, then winks at George, and then leaves. He has the tact to close the door behind him.

George turns to you, a bit closer than he needs to be now that the music is somewhat muffled. 

"So," he says. "How much trouble are we in?"

"I haven't even asked yet."

"I know."

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

"It's nothing illegal."

"Oh." He fakes a disappointed sigh. "Less exciting."

"It’s embarrassing."

This catches his attention. You’re not one to get easily embarrassed, always have been the more confident, if not the louder of the two.

You look down at your shoes and he starts to lift a hand to your chin but decides against it, instead ruffling his own hair. Disgusting, he remembers Lee’s voice.

"I may have accidentally implied I was dating someone."

George’s eyebrows lift. "Accidentally."

You nudge his shoulder, "Yeah, you know. Things happen. One second you're at brunch with your family, and they don't say it but you know they're thinking about it."

"I don't think I'm getting what it is supposed to mean in this scenario."

You look away and bring a hand up to your mouth like you want to bite a nail. "It means that my family is terribly conservative and they think I'm running out of time and I resent their pity."

“Out of time for what?" 

"Don't be cruel," you plead. "You know what I mean. I know Molly's the same with you, just– in her own way."

"You'll have to be more specific, love. That could mean many things,"

You look up at the ceiling and exhale through your nose. "Okay. Fine." You turn to face him suddenly, close enough that he can see the freckles on your cheek.

"I told my family we're dating, because my cousin got engaged and everyone was being weird about me not having a boyfriend to take to the wedding, like I'm some sort of..." you trail off looking for the word.

"Forty-year-old spinster?" George offers, a smile creeping up into his face despite himself.

"Like we're in some sort of Jane Austen novel, yeah." 

"I thought you liked Jane Austen," he says, cocking his head, "We went to that screening one time, remember? At Chatsworth House?"

"That's like me saying you should enjoy a home invasion just because you liked Home Alone."

George looks at you and smiles, a wicked thing. He knows he’s being unfair, because you look in enough pain as it is, but he thinks he likes to see you squirm. He’s just a man, after all. A man with a crush. 

You look lovely in your new dress, your makeup a bit smudged after a long day and all the dancing. He finally gets the courage to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying not to linger too much. 

"I know what you want," he says finally, sticking his hand back in his pocket to hide his trembling fingers, “But I want to hear it from you.”

You let out a light laugh, like you were holding your breath. "Don't make me say it. I feel pathetic."

"Pathetic is a heavy word. Clueless I feel is more accurate." George shouldn’t look too pleased with himself, but he is.

"Right. So?"

"So what?"

"Will you do it?" Your tone is dangerously close to a plea, and it makes him a bit dizzy. 

“Do what, love?” He smiles in a way he hopes is encouraging, masking his own nervousness with the Weasley bravado he’s spent years perfecting. 

You lick your lips nervously and he tries not to follow the motion, failing miserably. George wonders if you’re aware of the effect you have on him. 

"Will you go along with it and pretend you're my boyfriend?"

George looks at you and you look back at him. He tries to figure out if you’re joking, even though he knows you’re not. Your family can be conservative and pushy.  

"Hm, I don't know." He knows. 

"Please. Just until the wedding, I promise. It'll be fun, and my family already loves you." 

He wants to say he'd do anything forever if you asked, but bites his tongue instead. Plus, it is true that your family loves him.

"What's in it for me?" 

"My eternal gratitude?" You offer. You smile despite the tension, like you already know he’s saying yes.  

“Already have that.”

“I’ll pay for our dates.”

George shakes his head categorically. ”Nope. My mom, as you’ve kindly brought her up before, actually raised me right, in spite of my best efforts.”

You snort and cross your arms, a picture of patience and something else he can’t figure out. “She clearly didn’t if you’re being this mean and enjoying it.”

“You don’t know how much meaner I can get.” he says before he can help himself. 

You laugh. He can see you’re a little flustered, your cheeks pink under your makeup. George used to think this was enough for him, the chance to make you laugh and blush. He’s not sure that’s the case anymore.

“Please. Anything you want, just let me get this humiliation ritual over with.”

“How about a kiss?” He offers casually.

“A kiss?” You blink. “Like, right now?”

He shrugs and stands from where he was leaning on the counter, guiding you away from the kitchen and into the party.

“Whenever you feel like it.” 

"You could have just asked for that, you know.” You stop before opening the door, looking up at him with a glint in your eyes. He wishes you would kiss him right then and there. “I would’ve said yes.”

"Where's the fun in just asking for things?" 

"Mm.” You let him place his arm around your waist and open the door, stepping into the party. 

The sound of laughter, music, and conversation grows to be almost unbearable, and George is sharply aware of the thin layer of fabric that separates his hand from the warm skin of your back.

He’s not sure what he’s just gotten himself into. He should tell Lee. He should admit, to you and to himself, that he does have a crush on you. A big one.

“Let’s dance!” You say into his ear, close enough that your hair brushes the side of his face.

as you got out of bed and you got ready for the day, you kept flashing back to his hands on your waist- holding you steady. Holding you close.

gods he was right there- he was so warm and he smelled like cinnamon and wool. The scent had burrowed into your brain and made home in the very front and centre of it. “nothing happened. Get over it.”

you repeated the mantra to yourself as you smoothed out your shirt and finally opened the door to your room, stepping out into the sun-baked hallway. You thought you were in the clear, hearing bustling activity coming from the kitchen downstairs, but as soon as you closed your door behind you, the door across from yours opened.

and of course George was standing there. Leaving at the same time as you. You offered him a small smile, and he returned it. The silence wasn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely wasn’t entirely comfortable.

You opted to say nothing but a soft ‘goodmorning’ and as you passed him to walk down the stairs, you heard him take a breath. he had, infact. did she put on perfume? he shook his head and followed you down, silently so thankful that he had forgotten to brush his hair- he had spent just enough time going back yo brush it- just to emerge at the same time as you.

that’s normal, right?

you, on the other hand, were more than thankful to step into the kitchen, and immediately be enveloped in tasks. Fred was pestering Hermione, Ron was (not very successfully) trying to get him to stop, and just as you nearly missed walking into Charlie, who was holding a very tall stack of plates, molly bumped into you with the kettle. the very hot kettle. you curled into yourself, holding the spot on your arm where you’re sure all the hair had been singed off.

molly tossed a hurried ‘sorry darling!’ Over her shoulder and continued working around everyone. You opted to simply grab a dish of potatoes that was sitting on the counter and bring it to the table. You’ll focus on your burn later. George saw it all happen. He grimaced when the kettle hit your soft skin and his eyebrows raised in surprise when you didn’t do much to tend to the injury he knew was hurting you.

he was always impressed with how you cared for others before you even thought about yourself.

he took his place at the table next to you and Fred. While everyone ate, he couldn’t help but feel the pit in his stomach grow every time you moved your elbow further from his. Was something wrong?

it stayed like that the whole day. In the garden, you worked on the other side, chasing the gnomes and talking with Charlie- instead of him. When everyone else went inside to have lunch, you went with Arthur to run errands.

it wasn’t until you got back that night that he finally got a conversation out of you. he caught you as you were walking into your room. He rushed in behind you, closing the door with a slam that was a little too loud.

you turned to look at him in shock. “George- what are you doing?”

“what’s going on?” His eyes were begging, pleading. He looked at you with such care it made your knees weak. You faced his question defensively. “What do you mean- nothing is going on.” he shook his head. “No.” “no?”

“no. I won’t accept that. You’ve been avoiding me all day. I haven’t seen you take a break to sit down once.” “Georgie please. I’m fine.” “and what about your arm?”

he had noticed that? You somehow looked even more shocked now- but all George could do was look back and forth between your eyes and your lips. He wanted the avoidance to be over, he wanted you. “my arm is fine-“

“no it’s not! Merlin, put yourself first for once! I’m tired of acting like it doesn’t hurt me to see you pull away so much!” “it- it hurts you?” “yes gods! I thought you’d understand by now that I’m smitten with you! You’re my best fucking friend I can’t lose you and I’m sorry if last night I went too far but I could’ve sworn you felt the same and I just- I want it to go back to the way it was!”

oh my gods. George Weasely, the most sarcastic and outspoken person you had ever known was broken down- damn near on his knees grasping at anything at all- and telling you he loved you.. where was this last night? He’s doing this now?

you laughed. The sound made his eyes pop open. “you’re laughing?”

“Merlin George, if this is how you act after one day of me being a little bit distant, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long.”

“well- its been difficult I suppose..”

this was so amusing. He had no idea what to do with this. You reveled in the lost puppy that was standing before you. And then you reached out. Took his hand in your hands. Tracing his knuckles with your soft fingertips. “George.” “mm- mm yes?” He looked up from your hands and met your eyes.

“I do feel the same. I always have.” you watched as it clicked in his brain. You loved him. He loved you. You were holding his now cold hand in your soft warm ones. A huge smile erupted across his face. But then confusion flickered in. “But- then what was last night? All of today?”

you sighed. You did feel bad. “I’m sorry Georgie- I didn’t know how to manage everything I was feeling I think? Last night I just felt so connected to you and I didn’t know.. how to tell you.” he squeezed your hand and you looked up at him. He stepped closer and he slid his hand up your arm- resting on the sore burn. “It’s okay. I just missed you.”

“I missed you too Georgie.” “can I kiss you?”

kiss you. Can he kiss you. Oh gods- that’s a sentence you had only dreamed of him saying. You nodded, so quickly you could hear your brain bouncing around. He smiled- so so soft and lifted his hand to hold your chin. Pulling you in, you watched as his eyes drifted closed- and you followed.

you locked your lips to his and felt every burden lift off of you. He fell into you immediately, cupping your face with his hands. He was impossibly close and somehow pulling you closer. you felt all the air leave your lungs as you kissed him. His lips were so soft, his hands were so big, covering both sides of your face. His smell was so strong, mixing with the lavender body wash you had used that morning. God he was so perfect.

he never wanted to stop kissing you. but he pulled away, pressing a quick peck to your cheek as he went. But he stayed with his hands holding your face. You had never realized that the way he looked at you- with big needy eyes and a mushy grin- was just love. Plastered all over his face like a bad case of the stripes. He was admiring you. You looked all drunk on love, lips swollen and face red. Absolutely adorable.

“so what now?” You asked quietly. The house was silent now- and you knew, just like last night that you two were the only ones left awake. “Now?”

“I don’t know Love. What do you want?”

It was a fact.

They were luscious, always moisturised and plump. Sometimes splotched red after you bit the dryness on them, sometimes painted in different shades. Not too big, not too small. Just… pretty in that impossible-not-to-notice way. 

Sumptuously tender, made to be kissed. Not that he ever thought of kissing you… too much. 

But the main point was that they looked like they’d feel good against someone’s lips. That’s why he was, for lack of proper words, surprised when you confessed you had never kissed someone. 

Even more flabbergasting were the words that followed that incredibly verbose revelation.

“Would you—" you exhaled, seemingly gathering the courage to speak fluidly. “Would you kiss me?” 

George blinked rapidly, his head tilting slightly; his body swung forward as if, by doing so, he could understand you clearly. His brain took a few long, quiet seconds to catch up with what you just requested of him. 

It was enough for your anxiety to speak again.

“I mean…” You clicked your tongue, trying to come up with explanations. “I’ve never kissed someone, and it's only a matter of time before You-Know-Who gets a hold of the Ministry.” 

Illuminated only by the shine of the moon coming through the open window, he saw sparkling eyes that he had seen plenty of times but never quite like this. Stripped of masks, completely bare in front of him, betraying everything you were feeling. 

You weren't one to wear your heart on your sleeve, but right now he could see why people said that eyes were the windows to the soul. 

Closing your eyes, you sighed with a resigned air. When your eyes fluttered open, George saw in them a combination of both fear and determination. 

“We are heading into a war, and whatever step I take could potentially kill me, and I just—I could die tomorrow.” Your brows furrowed, contorted into the saddest, yet cutest, grimace George had ever seen.

“Don't say that; you won't die,” George whispered back, his voice slowly filling with the fear of a potential. 

Just hours ago they had gone and retrieved Harry from his aunt’s house, dressed like him in an attempt to fool the Death Eaters and get him to the Burrow safe and sound.

But Moody had died. He himself had lost an ear in the process. 

Imagining you dying when that could’ve really happened pulled the strings in his heart even more than the fact that he would be permanently deaf from one side. 

“You don't know that, George.” You turned your head to the side. “You almost did.” 

“But I didn't,” he replied quickly. 

“If the spell had hit you anywhere else, you could have.” Your chin trembled. “Moody did. And he’s not going to be the last one.” 

He took a step forward and grabbed your shoulders, his eyes trying to find yours, and once he did, the sight absolutely devastated him. 

Unspilled tears were crystallising your eyes.

“I could die tomorrow and the only thing I can't help but think is how much I wish I were able to experience even once what it is like to be… to be held.” You swallowed and looked up at him. “To know what it is like to be loved for even a few seconds.” 

“You are loved.” 

“But not the way that makes people wish to kiss me.” You blinked away the tears. “I’m always the friend, never the lover.” 

“Then we shall find somebody who can truly appreciate you.” George softly rubbed his hand over your shoulders. 

You chuckled. “George,” biting your lips, you simply looked into his eyes. “Please.” 

It was soft, barely a whisper uttered above the sound of the slumbering Burrow. Stable and easy, steadier than anything you had said so far.

His eyes lowered to your lips, the ones he knew the shape and form of. For a moment, he stared at them, his thoughts scrambled, trying to come up with excuses as to why they shouldn't, or why you shouldn't. But the more he stared, the more his resolve wavered.

Kissing was something soft, something too intimate for him to do with just anybody. Something much more significant than people gave credit for. Doing it with you would significantly change forever the way he looked at you, associating you with the feeling of the kiss.

It would be much more serious than what you seemed to think, because for him it was that serious. 

“Please,” you repeated. 

And this time, your breath brushed against his lips. His skin erupted in goosebumps, and his fingers trembled with broken willpower.

“Okay,” he whispered. 

Slowly, very slowly, he drew closer to your face. His hands travelled up to cup your cheeks, turning your head up. George had intended to make it tender, delicate, something that would make you smile once you remembered it. You, on the other hand, had other plans. 

Once his lips were so near yours that he could feel the warmth of them, you went on your tiptoes, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and crashed your mouth against his. What followed wasn't worlds colliding or stars exploding in the firmament. It was rather an exploration of unknown territory. 

Lips moving unsynchronised, learning how to. Gradually memorising the way it felt right, unpressured by any factor. 

For George, it felt more like an analysis than anything else. You had always been a great learner, but your head always worked differently than his, so it was no wonder you applied your studying methods to a kiss. 

It was cute.

And at the same time, as he tried to guide you unsuccessfully, it became incredibly infuriating. 

You tasted faintly of toothpaste, of the blood you had drawn from your lips after biting them while trying to explain everything to him, and of something so unmistakably you.

Despite the sloppy and utterly provoking way you were investigating, he was able to admit that, as he had observed, you had very kissable lips that made up for the absolute mess their clashing teeth were creating. 

God, you were demanding even when you didn't know what you were supposed to do. Yet, as George’s tongue tried to go past your lips, you jerked away; your scrunched nose and squinted eyes were telling enough. 

“That didn't feel right,” you mumbled, lips rubbing together as if to taste the kiss.

“It usually doesn't the first time.” He snorted, his thumbs pressing lightly on your cheeks, making your lips pouty. 

“Does it get better?” It was hard for you to speak, considering he was smushing your face. 

“Eventually.” 

You blinked. “Can I kiss you again?” 

“Depending on if you’re going to keep trying to control it,” he replied, lifting a brow. 

“How do I not control it?” you mumbled. 

“Not thinking about it.” He closed the distance again. 

“I wasn't thinking.” You defended yourself, but his knowing smile made you backtrack. “Well, maybe I was thinking, so what? I'm nervous.” 

George shook his head, amused, and just when you were about to reply, he cut you off by pressing his lips against yours in a tender, still definitely sloppy, but much more synchronised kiss. This time you weren't trying to examine it, allowing him to guide your lips into something more enjoyable.

It was significantly better. Way better, actually. This time he was able to move more freely, demanding even more from you than before. His tongue softly caressed your lower lip, and this time you didn't jerk away, and he was able to taste you fully without you jolting away and finishing the kiss. 

And… well, he was probably doomed, because now the kiss was becoming entertaining, pleasurable even. Something he feared would happen, yet he had been unable to say no to your plea. 

This was exactly the reason he didn't want to agree. This newfound intimacy, the complicity of it all, the trust you had in him—all were leading him to his downfall in your hands. 

You sighed on his lips; it wasn't quite a whimper, but it was something similar and equally as devastating. Then, just like before, you tore away from him; however, your lips parted from his with a small, delicate sigh that made him want to just press you against him again.

This time, your eyes fluttered slowly, like the flight of a butterfly. Your face felt hot underneath his hands, and your mouth was ajar, lips glistening with the mix of yours and his saliva. 

“That was better,” you observed, licking your lips.

“Way better or marginally better?” he asked, breathy. 

“It was better," you only replied. “Thank you.” 

George's smile returned, not in full force, though. Something was reality-inducing in that gratefulness; it made him feel something drop in his stomach.

“Whenever you want, love,” he whispered tenderly.

As if to prove it, he placed a peck on your lips. That alone felt a hundred times more intimate than the other two kisses. Maybe it was because there was something reverent in the way he did it, or perhaps it was that something had been irrevocably changed. 

“I'm heading back to Gin’s room,” you said, finally taking a few steps away from him. 

“Yes, sure.” He nodded.

“I’m going now.” You hesitantly started retreating from his old room. 

“Okay.” His eyes tracked your jittery movements.

Once you were at the door, you turned to him before opening it. Your already swollen lips were being bitten down, and your hand gripped the knob with more force than necessary. 

“Night, George,” you said, loud enough for him to hear, yet quiet enough not to disturb the sound of silence.

“Night, love.” 

He plastered a bright smile on his face until the door closed behind you. It was then that he allowed his body to sway and fall on the bed, being careful enough not to land on what was left of his amputated ear. 

His heart beat like crazy, and the redness on his ears slowly overpowered the rest of his face as he replayed the scene in his head.

What was worse wasn't the fact that he had kissed one of his closest friends; it was the fact that his view of you was now completely shattered, coated with the pink hues of something he didn't want to name. 

He should have done it. Yet, as his mind travelled again to that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to regret it. 

Even more damning, every part of his being was asking him to kiss you again. 

What a way of developing feelings. 

What a way of ruining a friendship.

He needed to kiss you again. He was going to do it again. 

Now, it wasn’t like they hadn’t interacted, of course they talked throughout the year, and studied in the library together. However, being in different houses helped with the distance that Neville wanted to keep. Y/n was a Hufflepuff, the house a lot of people thought Neville should’ve been placed in. Y/n thought otherwise, she trusted in the Sorting Hat’s judgement very deeply, her loyalty never faltered. 

Y/n loved her brother endlessly, and was happy to oblige with whatever wishes the boy had. So when Sirius Black had miraculously escaped from Azkaban prison over the summer, and Neville had insisted they would stay close together in fear of the man, she was glad to do just that to make him feel comfortable. She knew exactly why he was terrified, Sirius Black was the cousin of Bellatrix Lestrange, their parents’ torturer. 

While Neville had been the one to request her to stay away, he was also the one who gravitated towards her when he felt afraid–which was half of his time at Hogwarts. Y/n would never deny him anything, she was his big sister, how could she ever? So, even though they were not together for most of their time at Hogwarts, they had been seen around each other to note that they were in fact siblings, it was a mystery how none of his fellow lions seemed to realise it. 

It was the first breakfast of the term, the Longbottom siblings walked down the aisle arm in arm, hooked intertwined with each other. “Do you think Sirius Black would ever try to enter the castle?” 

“I highly doubt it, Nev. The castle is protected by talented Professors, it’d be an idiotic mistake to attempt to.” Y/n logically answered, visibly calming her brother’s nerves as they walked through the grand doors of the Great Hall. Y/n was very good at grounding Neville when he was feeling especially anxious. Y/n walked Neville down all the way to the Gryffindor table where his friends resided. “Alright, Neville, I’ll be off at Hufflepuff table, I’ll meet you at the courtyard for lunch, okay?” 

Neville nodded. “Alright.” Y/n nodded happily, before kissing Neville on the forehead, and turning her heel to leave. Neville went pink of embarrassment, one of the reasons he had asked Y/n to keep her distance was because she was very affectionate, hugs, and kisses on the cheek and forehead were her go to greetings, and biddings. Not that he minded, however things that seem little in private, and the comfort of your home seem different under the gazing eyes of your peers. 

Neville brushed it off, and sat down. “Morning guys.” He was now seated across from Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Ron’s older twin brothers Fred, and George. 

“Morning, Neville.” Ginny Weasley chimed from beside him, Hermione Granger echoed her one seat down. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Neville?” Said Ron, through his mouth of sausage. 

Neville, Ginny, and Hermione looked bewildered staring back at Ron. “Girlfriend?” Neville asked. 

Fred, and George looked at each other knowingly. “The Hufflepuff that just dropped you off.” Fred teased. 

“Meeting you in the courtyard for lunch?” George raised his eyebrows in amusement. He was quite a bit jealous of Neville, the Hufflepuff he had never seen before was quite gorgeous to him. The four boys laughed, and Neville looked at Ginny, and Hermione. 

“That’s his sister!” Ginny cackled, and shook her head. 

“Sister?” All of the boys said in a synchronised surprise, how is it that they’d known Neville for three years now, and had never known he had a sister?

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do you ever pay attention? Her name is literally Y/n Longbottom. Honestly.”

“Older, or younger?” George asked, he was trying to see if it was appropriate to grow a crush on the girl. 

“She’s a fourth-year.” Neville answered. “We’re together all of the time…” Sure they hadn’t spent every waking moment together, but they were together enough to put two, and two together that they were related. Longbottom was a particularly easy name to miss. 

“A fourth-year?” Ron repeated. 

“Yes, Ron, he just said.” Fred jokes, causing them to laugh. But George was distracted, his eyes across the room looking at the boy’s brother. She was gorgeous, and there was something about her that made him want to find out more. He knew her last name, and that she was a Hufflepuff, but that was just about it.

“Oi, Georgie’s staring.” Lee whispered to Fred. Fred looked at his brother, and followed his gaze. 

“No way…” Fred whispered to Lee, Fred sat in between the two. “Georgie’s got it for Neville’s older sister!” 

After the first day of term, George had started to see the girl everywhere, in places he had never noticed her before. 

He began to notice her when she walked past the Gryffindor table with her friends in the mornings, and afternoons. He saw her on his way to Potions in the corridors while she was on the way to her next class as well. And most of all, in the library– well exiting the library when he was on his way back to the common room from Quidditch practice. He began to make it a point to try and see her whenever he could during these times. It was a small, simple crush, one he figured he would let go of once he realised she was the type of girl that would never give him the time of day for his personality that was seen as immature, and loud. 

George Weasley, and Y/n Longbottom were opposites, totally, and completely. 

2, Year 5, 1994

George Weasley thought that his crush on Y/n Longbottom would dwindle, but no…oh no. 

During the summer he hadn’t given her much thought, but once he saw her at the train station on September 1st, he remembered why he had liked her so much. She was glowing, and was with Neville. He berated himself for nor noticing her sooner. 

“Oi.” Fred whispered. “You’re staring.” 

George furrowed his eyebrows. “Am not.” 

“Are too.” Fred teased. 

“So what?” George rolled his eyes as they stepped onto the train. 

“So. You’ve got a crush on Y/n Longbottom.” Fred chuckled. 

“It’s not a crush…” George looked back onto the line of students waiting to also board the train. Her, and her brother were just a few students down from himself, and his own brother. “She’s just–” George tried to find the words. “Intriguing.” 

“So…you like her.” Fred shook his head, and shared a look with Lee. 

“Oh, he’s got it bad.” Lee snickered. 

Later on in the train ride, George really, really had to go pee. He wasn’t sure why he had held it for so long. Perhaps it was his extremely short attention span that made him put it off, afterall the conversation he, Fred, and Lee were having was quite remarkable. A conversation of which Slytherins they were to prank this year, and the mysterious “event” that was going to occur at Hogwarts. 

He was walking down the aisle extremely fast to get to the lavatory at the end of the aisle, that was so close, yet so far. He was walking so fast that he didn’t realise one of the compartment doors had opened, and a girl had walked out. In his defense, the girl was not looking into the hall either, and would not have seen the redhead that was zooming to the bathroom because her head was turned to her friend.

Of course, as all people do when they aren’t paying attention to their surroundings, the boy, and the girl crashed into each other. The girl George crashed into? Y/n Longbottom. Great, George thought to himself, not only did he need to pee extremely badly, he had also just embarrassed himself in front of the girl he had a raging crush on. 

The girl, being so different in body mass from him, fell straight to the floor. George was mortified. “I am so sorry–” Until she started laughing. It was melodic, and George could've sworn he’d just heard a chorus of angels sing. George let out a hand for her to take. 

She continued to laugh while she took it. “It’s alright. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She sighed, dusting herself off. 

George looked at her, no, not looked, inspected. He could not believe how that just played out. There was a moment of awkward silence, George forgetting how to function completely, even the feeling of the uncomfortable need to pee was gone. Finally he realised he hadn’t even checked on her. “Are you okay?” He asked, hoping she didn’t notice the effect she had on him. 

She nodded. “Nothing but a bruise on my bum, I’m sure.” She joked. She hadn’t really hit the floor that hard, she was fine. 

George nodded, and began to walk backwards. “Sorry again.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She shook her head, with a small smile. A small smile that went a long way for George, as his cheeks went pink once he turned around to make his way towards the lavatory again. 

Of course, there was a line he could now see as he approached. He curiously looked back, just to see if Y/n was still in the aisle. He wasn’t expecting her to be just a few paces behind him. He now realised she needed to use the restroom too. He internally panicked. Things had just been adding up, he needed to pee extremely badly, he had just practically knocked the wind out of the girl he had a very big crush on, and now after just knocking her over, had to stand in line for the bathroom with her. 

George gulped now that she was caught up to him, and standing in the line as well. He leaned on the wall, and looked up before huffing. “Are you okay?” He wasn’t expecting her to make conversation. 

He looked down at her, she looked really concerned. She could definitely sense his uncomfortableness. He nodded. “I feel like I should be asking you that, considering–” He wasn’t trying to make her laugh, but she let out a small chuckle. 

“You don’t have to worry about that. I'm a-okay, I promise.” She reassured him. The conversation went idle, before George gathered up his courage to keep it moving. 

“You’re Neville’s older sister, Y/n right?” Smooth George, ask her questions you know the answer to already, he mentally berated himself. 

She smiled at the mention of her little brother. “Yes, he’s my little brother, he’s in your house, and you’re one of the Weasley twins.” George opened his mouth to confirm which twin he was when she cut him off. “Wait, let me guess!” Neville had told her that whenever he wanted to differentiate the twins he always looked for a mold on either one of their necks, because George had one, and Fred didn't. 

She inspected his neck subtly, and quickly found the freckle Neville was talking about. “You’re George.” She confirmed. 

George raised his eyebrows in a pleasant surprise. “You’re right.” He chuckled at her excitement, albeit she cheated, but who cares? Not him. George was a little sad when the line got to him, and he entered the lavatory. 

Finally, he was able to empty his bladder. Once he got out, Y/n was patiently waiting outside of it for her turn. Y/n smiled, as she entered the bathroom. “I’ll see you around, George.” 

“Alright then.” He said, although immediately regretted it. Alright then? He could’ve said anything else, but that. He could’ve said, “See you around.” or “See you too” instead he said, “Alright then.” Before he could redeem himself, the lavatory door was already closed. 

He groaned. He was less of a lady’s man then his twin brother was, but he was still not bad when it came to getting girls in his court. What was it about Y/n Longbottom that made him so…nervous?

3, Year 5, 1994

The Yule Ball was in full swing, the date was confirmed for Christmas day, and the halls were buzzing on who was bringing who, or who they were asking. George was stumped. After the incident on the train ride to Hogwarts with Y/n, they had become good acquaintances. They waved to each other in the halls when they passed by each other– George had changed some of his class routes to align with hers, and they would even have short conversations in the mornings sometimes when she would stop by to talk to Neville. 

George was the last one in his friend group to not have a date. Lee was going to Alicia Spinnet, and Fred had coolly asked Angelina Johnson to go with him on a whim during study hall, leaving just him. 

George wanted nothing more than to ask Y/n to the ball. Especially when he’d caught wind that Ginny was going to the ball with Neville. Now that there was no Quidditch due to the Triwizard Tournament, he didn’t see her coming out of the library like he used to, but figured she might be there at around the same time. 

Last year practice would end at around 7:00 pm. So that’s where he went at 7:00 today. He went to the Library corridor, and waited for her to exit. He had it all planned out, he would make it look like chance that he was there when she came out, and then he would say hi, and bring up the ball, and ask her. It was simple, but he was nervous. Very nervous. 

Finally he saw her walking out of the library with her things. He walked opposite to her, and greeted her. “Y/n! Hi.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, she never saw George around the library anymore especially now that Quidditch was paused for the year. “Hi, George.” She had gotten pretty well at telling the twins apart, mostly because Fred didn’t really speak to her. “What are you doing here?” 

“Oh you know just walking, but– now that I have you here, I was hoping to ask you something?” George started, he could feel the words getting stuck in his throat. 

She nodded, she wasn’t even expecting the words that were going to come out of his mouth. “Yeah sure, what’s up?” She asked curiously, giving him her undivided attention, whatever it was it seemed important. 

George gulped. “I was just wondering if…” He paused, and she waited patiently. He took a deep breath. “If you wanted to go to the ball with me?” George immediately regretted even coming to the corridor when he saw the look of rejection flash onto Y/n’s face. 

“Oh…I’m sorry” She started, George sighed. “I really would’ve loved to, George. Truly. But someone’s already asked me to go, and I’ve already said I’ll go…with him.” She explained, a Durmstrang boy she’d gotten to know a bit from her Magical Creatures class had asked her just a couple of days ago. But she also would’ve loved to go with George if he had asked her sooner. 

“Oh.” George sighed, the sting of rejection was laced in his voice. “Well, that’s alright, then. I’ll just–” He turned to leave. But Y/n stopped him. 

“I really am sorry, George.” She said in a sorry tone. “I would’ve loved to go with you.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for. I guess I should be sorry for asking so close to the ball.” He scratched the nape of his neck, the ball was next week.

Y/n’s expression remained sour. “Maybe we both can be sorry.” 

4, year 6, 1995

George’s crush on Y/n had somewhat mellowed down this year. It was still very much there, but as they became closer friends throughout last year, her presence seemed to dull his big feelings about her. 

When he was abruptly woken up in the night to the news that his father had been attacked in the Ministry, he was distraught. Groggy, and achy he and his siblings made it to the headmaster’s quarters, where they had gotten news that his father was attacked brutally, but was found, and was now safe. 

Which led him here during his winter break. At St. Mungos Hospital to visit his father. Himself, Fred, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry walked aimlessly around the hospital, they weren’t allowed to visit Mr. Weasley until he had awoken. Mrs. Weasley had told them to spend their time “exploring”, whatever that meant. They’d gotten to a room, it had many old witches, and wizards in the room, the plaque on the door was labelled as, Permanently Magically Incapacitated. That sparked the group's attention, but their interest deepened more when Ginny recognised two people in the room. 

“Is that, Neville, and Y/n?” Ginny said to her brothers, and friends.

“Neville, and Y/n?” Ron repeated. 

Hermione peaked through the window’s blinds. “It is.” She pointed out. “And that’s their grandmother.” 

“Why are they here?” Harry asked, and the others shrugged. 

“We should say hi.” Ginny suggested, making her way to the door. Before any of them could stop her, she had knocked on the door, garnering the attention of Neville, and Augusta Longbottom. 

Somehow, in the five seconds it took for them to get to the room, Y/n had disappeared, which saddened George. Neville seemed nervous that they were all there. 

“Uhh oh! Hey guys.” He acknowledged them, once Ginny waved. His grandmother eyed him. “Oh, grandma, these are my friends, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George Weasley.” 

His grandmother, a tall intimidating woman, reminded George of Y/n. She had the same perfect posture, and the same piercing intimidating gaze. “Why are you here, Neville?” Ginny curiously asked.

“My parents live here.” Neville shortly said, he sounded scared to reveal the truth. 

“They live…here?” Harry asked. 

Neville nodded, he wasn’t expecting his grandmother to give them his parent’s whole biography. Towards the end of her long rant, George had caught sight of Y/n. He must’ve lit up or made a face, because his grandmother turned to where his gaze was. The sight was despairing, as Y/n walked arm in arm with a frail thin woman, she looked just how their grandmother explained how their parents ended up here. Insane from torture. 

“Neville, Mum has something for you.” Y/n quietly said, her face surprised to see all of the familiar faces looking at her. 

“Again?” Her grandmother said. “Very well, Alice, dear. Very well. Neville take it– whatever it is…Very nice, dear.” Her grandmother said to her mother. 

“Thanks, Mum.” Neville said, taking the small bit of paper from her hands. It was a gum wrapper. Y/n let out a small smile. 

In that moment all of the others realised why Neville was, the way that he was. And why Y/n was so protective, and respective of him and his boundaries. George admired Y/n at that moment. He realised she probably had to have had a lot of self resilience to have grown up the way that she did. 

George wanted to converse with Y/n, but her mother was pulling her elsewhere into the room. As if on cue, Neville’s grandmother had excused the two of them from the conversation. “Well, we’d better get back. Very nice to have met you all.” She began to follow Y/n and her mother. “Neville put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough to paper your bedroom by now.” George heard their grandmother instruct. 

Just as George was about to follow the others that were now filing out of the room. Y/n shortly told her grandmother something before calling out for him. “George!” She said, slightly jogging over. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” He smiled, happy that he was able to speak to her just for a bit. 

“Just wanted to say hi. But I ought not to keep your family waiting…” Y/n snickered, seeing an amused Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Fred staring at them through the window of the room. 

“Ignore them.” He rolled his eyes, there was an awkward silence between them, there was always an awkward air that surrounded them mostly due to George and his feelings for her, but also her blooming ones for him. 

“So, what are you guys here for?” She asked curiously, trying to fill the awkward air surrounding them. 

“Uhm, my Father. He was attacked while working in the Ministry. He’s okay though.” 

“I’m glad to hear. Well, I better get back to my parents. I hope your Father feels better soon.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it in comfort. “See you at school, George.” She smiled, before letting go of his hand, and happily walking over to her parents, brother, and grandmother. 

George had thought his crush on Y/n Longbottom had mellowed, but the way his heart pounded out of his chest from the way she held his hand. The feeling was something he’d never felt before. He’d held hands with tons of girls, kissed tons of girls, but never had they once made him feel how she did. 

When George had finally joined the others in the corridor outside, he was teased relentlessly, mostly by Fred, and Ron. However, he didn’t seem to care nor deny the fact that he did in fact have feelings for Y/n, because quite frankly it was undeniable now. George Weasley was deeply, utterly in love with Y/n Longbottom. 

5, year 6, 1996

After Dumbledore’s Army had been caught, George, and Fred had cracked a plan to end Umbridge's madness once, and for all. Of course, with the plan came dropping out of school, and beginning to work on their joke shop. 

Y/n was currently helping younger years with their wounds after having their detention with Professor Umbridge. As most Hufflepuffs were, and like her brother, Y/n was good with herbs, and plants. One of the plants she grew in her own dorm was Dittany, a plant that was used in many healing potions, and had many magical healing properties. 

She sat in the Gryffindor common room, because most of Dumbledore’s Army was Gryffindor students, healing the students’ wounds. George watched her, waiting for his turn, all of the older students collectively decided to let the younger students go first. They could handle the pain for much longer than the younger ones could. 

Y/n looked like she was in her element, healing people. She had once confided in George that she wanted to be a healer at St. Mungos. He could definitely see it. George admired how she could be so maternal at her age. She was very mature. It made George insecure about his feelings towards her, he felt they would never be reciprocated just because they were so different. 

But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Y/n had grown to like George just as much as he liked her, only she was a little bit better at hiding it. It was apparent to everyone except the pair of them. George was next in line for Y/n’s healing. 

They conversed while she did her routine. A couple of drops of essence of Dittany, and then a wrap to prevent irritation. She would’ve done it faster, but because they were conversating she moved a bit slower than usual. 

“How bad is it doc?” George joked, as she dropped the Dittany onto his skin. 

“Horrible, I think you’ll need extensive care after this one.” She played along, now wrapping his wounds with medical tape. 

“I don’t know doc, I think a kiss on the cheek would do it for me.” He was feeling bold, but he wasn’t expecting her to actually kiss his cheek. 

“There, all better?” Y/n asked, her voice was almost teasing. George nodded dopily before allowing the next person to be healed. 

“Why don’t they just get together already.” Ginny asked her brothers, Harry, Hermione, and Neville, watching Y/n start her healing routine. Neville looked shocked. 

“Together? My sister?” Neville questioned, he noticed they were friends now, but it went completely over his head that they liked each other. 

“They flirt with each other all of the time,” Ginny chuckled, and the others agreed. 

“It’s sickening.” Ron added. “George reckons she doesn’t like him back. That’s why he’s so afraid.” 

“Y/n doesn’t really…date. At least from what I’ve seen.” Neville said, now keeping his eyes on the pair, he looked away for a split second. 

“Are you sure about that?” Fred asked, as he looked at his flustered brother. Y/n had just kissed George on the cheek. 

Neville was very unsure.

6, The beginning of the war, 1997

After the twins dropped out of school Y/n hadn’t seen much of them until she joined the Order of the Phoenix as a healer after she graduated. Her parents were a part of the original Order, it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when she happily accepted the invitation. 

George had long forgotten about his crush on Y/n, thinking about her from time to time– it’d been over a year since he’d last seen her. Until he saw her at one of the Order meetings for the first time. All of his feelings came flooding back. She looked older, her face had matured, and somehow she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her head was tilted back as she laughed with Tonks while they waited for the meeting to begin. 

After the meeting concluded, they had a short conversation catching up on their time spent apart. “Longbottom, long time no see.” He cheekily said.

“Hello, George.” She chuckled. “How have you been? I hear you’re a successful business owner with Fred. I knew you could make it out of selling from your trunks in the corridors of Hogwarts.”  

During their years at Hogwarts, George, and Fred sold their products from their dorms, small things like their canary creams. Y/n was the only Prefect that let them off with a warning every single time they were caught. 

George chuckled. “Yes, have you been? I would’ve seen you if you had.” 

“I have.” Y/n nodded, George was surprised, he greets every single one of his customers, he would’ve known if Y/n Longbottom walked into his store, in fact he would’ve been ecstatic to see her. 

“You have? Perhaps you walked in when I was on break. Trust me, I would’ve known if you were in my shop.” George seriously said, but Y/n laughed, making George’s heart swell, it was a sound he hadn’t heard in forever. 

“Fred greeted me when I walked in, so perhaps you are right. I was only there for a few minutes, otherwise I would’ve been late for my shift at St. Mungos. Very impressive what you two have done with the shop.” She informed him. George groaned, having missed her by a few minutes, he would’ve loved to see her sooner than he had now.”Congratulations.” 

“You too, you’ve always wanted to work at St. Mungos.” Y/n was taken aback that he remembered such a small detail about her. 

“Thank you.” She smiled, before catching a glimpse of the time. Her smile dropped. “I’m so sorry. I have a shift at the hospital now. I would love to stay and chat, but I have to go. I'll see you next time.” She smiled, and apparated away with a pop. 

George was left alone; he couldn't even say goodbye. Fred, and Tonks watched with amusement written all over their faces. “He still has a crush on her?” Tonks remembered in 12 Grimmauld Place, the other teenagers would tease George about his crush on the girl all of the time. Fred nodded. 

“Oh he’s in love.” 

That was two weeks ago. It was July 27, and tonight they were transferring Harry to the Burrow. Y/n was a stand on healer, in case anything happened. She was to wait at the burrow for the others with her remedies, and potions for any injuries that might have occurred during the transportation. 

Y/n hadn’t seen George since the meeting, but she was having a deep conversation with his mother as they waited for the others to come to the rendezvous point. Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny were nervous. So was Y/n, the anxious air engulfed the room, so much so that after her conversation with Mrs. Weasley Y/n found herself on the front porch. 

The groups were late now, and Y/n was starting to worry. She looked up at the night sky if it were under different circumstances she would’ve thought the summer night to be beautiful, and calming, the way the crickets chirped, and the wind moved the grass. 

The calming sounds broke when the sound of the barrier being broken was heard. One of the pairs had arrived. Ginny was bolting out of the door, and running towards the approaching pair, it was Hagrid, and the real Harry. Y/n let out a small sigh of relief, however that was still six other groups left unaccounted for, one of them being George. 

“Harry! Hagrid!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. Y/n stood behind her with Ginny. “What happened, where are the others?” 

“Is no one else back?” Harry asked, and Y/n shook her head dimly. 

“They were on us from the start, Molly.” Hagrid explained, making Y/n’s stomach churn. “We didn’t stand a chance.” 

“Well, thank goodness you two are alright.” Mrs. Weasley said. 

“The Death Eaters were waiting for an ambush.” 

“Come inside, I’ll have a look at you.” Y/n said, while Ginny walked over to Harry. She figured she would let them come in on their own accord. 

They had barely made it a couple of steps towards the house before another pair came through the barrier with a loud whoosh, catching Y/n’s attention. 

“Here!” Lupin shouted, holding onto a bloodied Harry, transforming into one of the twins, not just one of the twins, George. 

Y/n went straight into healer mode, immediately rushing over to take the other arm of George to act as another crutch, although she wasn’t of much help due to Harry beating her to it. “Quick! Into the house.” Instead of waiting around, Y/n rushed into the house to grab her potions, and healing supplies. 

“Oh, my boy…” Mrs. Weasley said, making room for him on the couch. Y/n grabbed her wound-cleaning, blood replenishing potion, and calming draught for George,ignoring the ruckus from Lupin, and Harry. If it were anyone else she would have remained calm, but she was nervous having to care for George. Mrs. Weasley was hunched over George, but made room for Y/n once she saw her making her way over. 

Y/n placed all of her potions down. “Mrs. Weasley, could you please get me a warm damp towel?” Mrs. Weasley nodded, and made her way to the kitchen. “George, can you open your eyes, I need to see if–” 

George’s eyes opened as soon as she asked. “You’re beautiful.” He abruptly said. 

“You must be concussed…” She concluded, her wand was dimly lit. “Follow my wand please.”  George did as she asked perfectly, meaning he shouldn’t have been concussed. 

“I mean it.” George whispered, he had just almost died, and all he could think about is how he never asked out the woman he loved, out of fear. 

Y/n shushed him, her cheeks pink. “Let me care for you, and when you’re all better you can tell me all about it.” She grabbed her calming draught, and poured a bit into a small cup. “Drink this.” 

George drank it down with a big gulp, immediately feeling lighter, his tense body releasing. “This might sting just a bit.” She whispered, gently wiping away the excess blood from the side of his head. Her expression went even more serious when she realised George no longer had an ear. Still, he inspected her while she worked. She dropped a couple of drops of her wound-cleaning potion onto his wound. He winced. “Sorry, I know. I know.” She could feel the eyes boring into her now that more of the others had begun to arrive. 

She added the blood replenishing potion before sealing his wounds. “Vulnera Sanentur…Vulnera Sanentur…” She waved her wand around his head. Fred now kneeled beside Y/n while she cleaned up her supplies. She stepped away to give the brothers some space, and to grab her wraps to wrap his head. 

“How are you feeling, Georgie?” Fred asked. He still had a lot of blood in his hair, and on the side of his face. 

“Saint-like.” George answered. 

“Come again?” Fred confusedly requested. 

“Saint-like. I’m holey, Fred. Get it? I’m holey?” 

Fred shook his head, and smiled. “The whole wide world of ear related humor, and you go with, I’m holey. It’s pathetic.” 

“Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George chuckled, and Y/n came back around with the wraps, and another wet towel to clean the rest of his blood. Y/n kneeled beside Fred, and from behind her heard:

“Mad-Eye’s dead.” Bill Weasley announced. “Mundungus took one look at Voldemort and disapparated. 

While they grieved, Y/n continued her job. Moody was a kind man, but a man Y/n hardly knew. She cleaned the rest of the blood off of George’s neck, and head. “Now that I’m all better, can I tell you how beautiful I think you are now?” George whispered. 

“You’re still in a daze, and medicated up. I doubt you’re not kidding me right now, Weasley.” She said, but a small part of her hope he was being serious. 

“I’m serious. I’ve had a crush on you since my fifth-year.” George confessed in a low voice. 

Y/n paused, before continuing to wipe the blood off of his skin. “Mrs. Weasley, he’ll need a change of clothes.” Mrs. Weasley nodded, and walked up the stairs. She began to wrap his head. 

“Let me take you out on a date.” George asked, lifting his head slightly off of the pillow so she could wrap his head.

“A date?” Y/n chuckled, but continued. “Where too?” 

The others shamelessly watched while the two flirted. Ginny, and the trio sharing cheeky glances. 

“Anywhere you want.” Y/n let his head down. 

“Anywhere?” Y/n confirmed. 

“Anywhere.” George nodded, although he was in pain, and a bit dazed, he knew he wanted this more than anything. 

“It took you almost dying to confess your feelings to me all of these years?” Y/n asked, realising how serious George was. 

George smiled. “Sounds about right.” 

“Alright, how about the Saturday after the next? If my calculations are correct, your ear should be mostly healed by then.” Y/n suggested. 

“Sounds like a plan, doc. But I think I’ll be fully healed if you kiss me right now.” George tried his luck, and smiled when Y/n leaned in. 

Y/n paused, her lips practically brushing against his. “Later, not in front of everyone.” She pulled away with a proud teasing smile. “You’re crazy, asking me to do such a thing in front of your family.” She chuckled. 

“Crazy for you.” He whispered. 

it was the final quidditch match of the year, and Gryffindor had absolutely cleared the Hufflepuff team. they were electric. George took down their beater within the first twenty minutes, harry caught the golden snitch like it was the missing other half of a him-shaped magnet, and the stands were cheering all the while. the party in the Gryffindor dorms afterwards was just as wild. there was spiked butter beer, courtesy of Fred, who managed to sneak muggle alcohol past the fat lady, games, and congratulations all around.

everyone was drunk very quickly. Angelina had the bright idea to start a tipsy game of telephone, insisting that everyone play spin the bottle. many backed out, saying it was dumb, just a stupid party game. others left entirely, saying things about exams the next day, needing to get back to their dorms.

the group that ended up playing was a small one. Fred, George, Angelina and some of her friends, Harry, Ron and Hermione, and a couple more of the quidditch players. after a few spins, and a few kisses, split by laughter and jokes, it was George's turn. your heart raced as you followed the movement of his hand as he spun the bottle, and you watched it fly round and around and as it slowed and then stopped.

on you.

in the moment, it was just another kiss in the round of this game but to you, it was the single most jarring realization you had yet to have. you were about to kiss George Weasley in front of all your friends.

this was not where you wanted to kiss George. this was not the astronomy tower, In soft lighting under the moon and stars, with his big hands gently cupping your face and sliding down the back of your neck. your hands would not be threaded in his soft hair, or gripping his scarf, pulling him unreasonably close. instead, you were both tipsy and sweaty, surrounded by drunk friends who would continue talking about this for days to come.

but you pushed all those thoughts down as Fred gave him a little nudge in the side and made some smart quip- and then George was leaning in. you took note of how he wiped his palms on the knees of his trousers and how his tongue darted out to wet his lips. and then he kissed you. soft and simple, with his forefinger and his thumb coming up to rest under your chin. yes, it was just a small kiss, but it felt like it lasted forever.

you swore you could've felt him sigh against your lips.

and then you snapped back to reality- the giggles from Angelina and her girls and the snickering from Oliver and Fred- and that George was slowly pulling away, a charming glint in his eye and a shit eating grin on his face. He stroked his finger under your chin once- leaving goosebumps- before he sat back against the couch, nursing his beer. you sat back between Hermione and Oliver, nerves exploding in your fingertips.

spin the bottle ended quickly after that, when Hermione spun the bottle and it landed on Ron- eliciting a hasty cheek kiss between them and then immediate excuses and rushed goodnights. Fred clamored on drunkenly about them being no fun, and was ushered upstairs by George and Lee. Angelina turned in too, and soon, you were left by yourself in the common room, finally rid of the noise from the day.

you started cleaning, picking up fallen streamers and empty cups. you didn't even realize anyone was still there until you heard someone clear their throat. when you turned, there was George, leaning against the door frame leading up to his dorm. his arms were crossed over his chest, and you knew he could see your eyes flick down to his biceps before they met his eyes. they had that same sparkle in them that they did earlier.

then he moved, helping you clean. "how'd you like the match today?" he finally asked.

you smiled to yourself. "it was fine. the beater on our team could really use some work on his aim though." George scoffed. "I really do hope you're referring to Fred.. because im the best this team has seen in a long time."

now that made you laugh. "a bit cocky, aren't you?"

"always have been love."

love?

what does that even mean? you had stopped, halfway to the trash bag. you turned to look at George. and he was there, strong and tall and helping you without an ask, seemingly oblivious that you were standing there rethinking every occurrence that had happened in the last hour. before he could turn and see you short-circuiting, you moved. closer to the stairs, trying to put more distance in-between the two of you while you continued picking up.

you both finished in silence, only occasionally broken by a door opening above you and then closing again. as you stood with your hands on your hips in accomplishment, George made his way to your side; matching your pose and admiring the clean common room.

"we make a good team, you and i." you said, glancing up at him. he chuckled. "you're a good kisser."

excuse me?? you could tell he was amused by the flicker of shock that crossed your face before you covered it with sarcasm. "very kind Weasley, but you don't have to flatter me. spin the bottle is a kiss waiting to happen."

George's brow furrowed a bit and he tuned to face you fully. he was so tall, it twisted in your stomach how badly you wanted him to lean down to look you in the face. he nodded- "sure, it's waiting to happen, but maybe I wanted to kiss you."

now that takes the cake. "George are you flirting with me? how bold of you to come right out and say-"

he cut you off. not with his words or with a laugh like he sometimes does, with his lips. he had leaned down and had kissed you again. this tine it was softer, just a peck- just to shut you up.

"im serious." his voice had dropped and now your stomach was really in knots; your face was definitely not a natural color. "I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I met you."

"you have?"

he laughed and reached out, warm palms squishing both sides of your face.

"yes, Godrick, I thought it was obvious how gone on you I am."

you blinked. gone on you.. George Weasley- gone on you? you let out a soft sound of disbelief and slowly reached up to lace your fingers in-between his, your other hand cupping his face in return. then you leaned in.

you pressed your lips to his, soft and tentative, like opening the envelope of a letter containing important information. and then it deepened. George pulled your face up into his and slid his other hand down to your lower back. he pressed your body against his firm chest and you felt his heartbeat kick.

the kiss picked up, your fingers unraveling from his and gripping onto the front of his jumper instead, and his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hip. you felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip and you returned the action, nipping at his lip with your teeth. you felt him chuckle against you and you smiled into the kiss.

when he finally pulled away you felt as if you were floating. your eyes stayed closed, and when they slid open again, he was looking at you. really looking. you could hardly tell what he was feeling but he was looking at you with so much intent you couldn't help but understand.

you both stood there for another second, cradling eachother's faces in clammy palms. then he spoke, softly.

"it was my idea to play spin the bottle. thought it might finally give me some courage."

you giggled, turning your head to press a kiss against his hand. "George Weasley, you are unreal."

"says you love- you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you."

"and you have no idea how long I've been wanting this. wanting you."

he grinned, your favorite, a proud and crooked grin. "so I take it you'll come with me to hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"yes Georgie, ill come with you to hogsmeade tomorrow. id love to."

he finally stepped back, and as soon as his body left yours you missed his warmth. he smiled at you, eyes low and gleaming. he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. you looked at him with one thought in mind: you only wanted to kiss him for the rest of your life. this giant, gentle boy, freckled and blushing and looking like he wanted to kiss you again. "best get to bed love. don't want you having a headache in the morning." he murmured.

"best get to bed then." you echoed. but neither of you moved. only when you caught his eyes flick down to your lips again did you smile. you grabbed the collar of his jumper and pulled him down to you and locked your lips together once again.

when you pulled away he looked absolutely dazed. there was a slight sheen of chapstick on his lips and he had fully blushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you started to walk towards the stairs, leaving him in the common room- smelling like your perfume. "goodnight Georgie." you called over your shoulder. "ill see you tomorrow."

you were halfway up the stairs when he ran and grabbed your wrist, spinning you around and pulling you into him for one last kiss. he pecked all over your face and held your waist tightly.

and then he pulled away. he whispered goodnight against your lips, and then he was down the stairs and to his dorm without another word.

you were asleep before your head hit the pillow, but as you drifted further and further from what had just happened, your chest was warm, and you swore you could feel yourself tingling everywhere he had just kissed.

It was almost numbing in a way that had nothing to do with the temperatures.

He was drowning in a frozen ocean—kind of haunting. He wasn’t able to stop his brain from fixating on that specific moment, on what he could’ve done differently to change the outcome.

“Gi.”

He should have known better, but how could he?

For goodness sake, he knew Jane wasn’t up to any good. He had seen the way she looked at him, as if she wanted to devour him whole, but that was the way she always looked at every Quidditch team member. Never in his life could he have imagined she would do something like that. 

“George.”

Though he never expected it, it had been his fault for trusting her. For being so naïve, so foolish as to fall right into her trap so easily. Because her touch had felt good, George even remembers thinking that kissing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and her hands on him were like a reward for… for trusting her so stupidly.

He should’ve stopped her before his body learnt to respond.

Everything, from head to toe, had betrayed his heart.  And once he realised what had happened, he felt so disturbed.

So helpless.

Yet the worst of all hadn’t been realising that; it had been remembering the look on your face every time he said Jane was the love of his life. He hadn’t only betrayed himself; he had betrayed you.

Realising that had been the most devastating thing so far.

So much for not cheating.

“George!” You snapped your fingers in front of him.

Coming out of the paralysed state he had been in mere seconds ago wasn’t easy. And lately, he found himself retracting inside his brain more often than not. But how could he not? Every time he looked at you, something in his chest burnt, and that characteristic redness filled his cheeks.

Shame.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he mumbled, looking at his hands.

“No, you’re not.” He didn’t look at you, but by the way you said it, he guessed you were pouting.

“You were talking about Nessa and Daphne.” He held your gaze for an instant before turning his head away.

“What about?” You crossed your arms, lifting a brow.

He thought for a bit. “How good are they as a couple?” he asked, tentatively.

You stared at him, lips tightly pursed together as your eyes tried to find his. He dared, for a second, to look into them, finding it impossible not to give in when you looked like that: pleading and begging him with puppy eyes. Much to his chagrin, your eyes showed not an ounce of anger or even annoyance. Rather, they were looking at him with something akin to sadness. Almost too close to pity.

Which was worse.

He knew how to handle anger, exasperation, fury. But this? This look of concern and understanding, as if you knew perfectly well why he hadn’t been paying attention to the point of compassion.

It was sickening.

“They are about to end everything,” you finally said, voice soft as you linked your arm through his and started walking back towards the castle. “It’s not even been a month, but they are not doing well as… whatever they are."

He hummed, walking at your pace as you guided him through the hallways. “All the work for nothing.”

“Nessa forgot about Rose, at least.” You shrugged.

Silence settled over them, the kind of silence that was charged with something heavier than they were willing to talk about.

For days, their routine had changed drastically ever since their birthday. The first few days after the accident, George had refused to see you, avoiding you completely and hiding in his dorm after classes. But you had been stubborn and had vehemently denied his denial.

Even when he didn’t dare to talk about it, you simply were there, like a stoic presence.

It had taken him a while to finally gather the courage to be in your presence without feeling like the worst kind of scum ever, and yet he still had that thorn prickling in his heart. The one that yelled at him that he didn’t deserve you.

“Fred says that it happens sometimes.” You spoke again. “The bubbling feelings after a kiss with someone you like physically that then end up fizzling out.”

“I wouldn’t know.” His smile tilted downwards.

Fred had kept you company during those days he hid. And it seemed like he had earned your respect in one way or another. That should’ve been a good thing; he wanted his brother to have a good relationship with you.

But then his heart didn’t think it like that, and it ached twistedly whenever you brought him into the conversation, which was a lot of the time lately. You and Fred, as it might seem, had allied to make Jane Williams’ life unbearable. And honestly, he doesn’t know whether he liked that development.

After all, it had been his fault, too. And for that reason he had practically begged everyone not to tell any of the adults at Hogwarts; he should’ve known better.

“Yes, well. They decided that they were better off as friends.”

He hummed. “Okay.”

“George. You know you can talk to me, right?”

No, because he knew what you would say.

He wasn’t dumb; he obviously knew what you thought. These past months served to understand you and your way of thinking better than you even understood yourself.

This, as idiotic as it was, was his punishment.

“Yes.” He whispered, out of obligation.

You stopped in front of him. “Then talk to me. Please,” you pleaded, brows knitting together.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He crossed his arms.

“George.”

The look on your face was devastatingly beautiful. Eyes full of plea, sparkling with restrained emotion, were searching for an answer inside his. Answers he didn’t want to talk about but couldn’t hide from his eyes, answers that would earn your pity.

You stepped towards him, only a few centimetres closer, and it was enough for him to smell the scent of your perfume. Powerful, just like you. Able to make him, if for an instant, forget that he was supposedly atoning for his sin by depriving himself of you, of your smile, of your whole being.

There wasn’t any make-up on your face, and the lip balm had dried off. He wished he could reach into your pocket and reapply a thin layer of it, just as he had sometimes done before everything soured. But he couldn’t, because there was something bigger stopping him.

Guilt.

Fiercer than any other emotion he felt.

“Stop it.” Your hands lifted to brush away a strand of hair from his face. “I know you’re overthinking.”

“It’s my natural state.” He teased.

You smiled sideways. “Yes, but not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s your fault.” Barely a thread of sound came out of your mouth, so hushed, in fact, he had to think over your words to understand what you said.

George blinked at you, eyes sparkling like diamonds, but remained silent. It made you grimace, your smile downturned.

“Darling, you know that, right?” Your hands rested on his cheek.

He didn’t speak. And for you, that was the answer.

You sighed and took his hand, squeezing it before leading him through the maze of hallways.

***

They hadn’t been in the den for quite some time, not even since the day before his birthday. Being there meant remembering all the times he had enjoyed your presence in every way possible. Not only that, but your touches, your kisses, your caresses.

Being there reminded him he had tainted that.

Avoiding being near you here, or in the prefects' bathroom, was the real torture. He couldn’t simply intend to be with you, to pretend he could be near you without thinking that, even if you thought that their relationship was fake, he had hurt you.

He had hurt you.

Just like he said he wouldn’t do.

There hadn’t been a day he didn’t think of the way your face had fallen when he had claimed that you weren’t his girlfriend, and he had confessed his sick love for Jane. The way you scratched your scalp constantly, almost unconsciously, in that way you did when something hurt you.

No, he simply couldn’t forget that.

“George.”

He sat down on the twirl of cushions, feet planted on the floor rather than criss-crossing them like you did, back straight as you sat beside him. Your body was turned towards him, looking for his gaze as you lifted your hand; it hovered in the air before you rested it on his back.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong.” Your hand started rubbing soothing, small circles.

“There’s nothing wrong.” He replied quickly, shivering at the sudden warmth.

Your face softened. “Gi, please.” There was a pause. “George—"

George turned his head quickly, and his sharp eyes found yours. “Stop,” his voice came out fierce, yet broken. “What do you want me to tell you? That every time I think of it, I feel like throwing up? That the guilt I feel for cheating on you is-is—”

“Breathe.”

He hadn’t realised it, but his breathing had quickened. Not completely breathless, but the kind of ragged breath after an outburst. Short, aggressive.

Tears didn’t spill from his eyes; he wouldn’t shed a single tear, not in this situation, but his eyes became glossy, turbulent, as he flickered them between yours. Looking for anger, for that accusatory gleam in them that you knew how to use.

That kind of emotion that didn’t belong in your eyes when you looked at him, and he feared the day when they did.

It wouldn’t be today, though, because your pupils were dilated with another kind of emotion, one that deserved tears and love confessions instead of avoidance and an explosion.

“You’re allowed to feel that, George.” Your voice was soft, barely a whisper that nearly got lost among the silence. “All of them. Even the things you’re not saying.” You placed your other hand on his knee. “All except for guilt. There’s nothing to feel guilty—”

“Yes, there is.” He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “I did it. I remember it, everything. I touched her, I kissed her, I betrayed you.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“I was.” He blinked a few times. “I truly was. I wanted that; at that time I wanted it.”

You opened your lips, then closed them again. “Would you have touched her if it were for the love potion?” Gently, you grabbed his face and made him look at you. “Do you know what the definition of consent is? Being able to say no.”

George removed your hand from his face gently, intertwining his fingers with yours. “But I remember.” Without realising it, his mouth turned downwards. “I should’ve known better.”

“No, shouldn’t.”

“I should have.” He grimaced. “I drank what she gave me. I enjoyed her touch; I-I touched her. I cheated on you, and I hurt you.”

“No.” Your lower lip wobbled. “No, you didn’t, baby.”

Before George could speak, you went in for a hug, enveloping him in the lavender warmth he had missed so much but didn’t allow himself to reach for it.

Even then, he didn’t hug you back.

Stubborn was what characterised you, and he knew you wouldn’t give up on anything you set your mind on. So when he didn’t hug you, you only shifted your body, allowing his face to be buried in the crook of your neck.

No.

This wasn’t what should have happened.

You should be angry, yelling at him for hurting you and going back on the agreement you two had established in January.

Anger would mean he could atone. Anger meant he would know how to handle it.

“Let me think it alone, please.” He mumbled with a trembling voice.

Inhaling the scent of you, filling his lungs with you after two weeks of only holding your hand, he tried to remove himself. Obviously, you only held tighter.

“George, would you have blamed me or called me a cheater if some boy fed me a love potion, kissed me and touched me?” Your fingers tightly grasped his long sleeve as you talked. “Would you have told me it was my fault because, under the influence, I enjoyed it? Wouldn’t you have been angry if you knew that if I hadn’t been drugged, I would’ve refused his advances?”

He didn’t want to think of it. Despite everything he had said, he knew that if the roles were reversed, he would never, ever blame you. George thought that if that ever happened, he would have obliterated the git until there wasn’t any part of his body covered in bruises and blood.

Yet, for some reason, when it came to his experience, his brain couldn’t think of it that way.

“George, answer me.” Hands intertwined with his hair, pulling his face away from your neck and making him stare at you. “Would you have said it was my fault?”

He shook his head slowly, barely a movement, but since you had his hair in your fingers, you noticed, and for now, that was enough.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” you asked, voice tense.

He inhaled. “For not being able to think properly, I didn’t want to cheat on—”

George hadn’t been able to finish his words, not because he was moved to the point of tears. George hadn’t been able to finish his words because your mouth on his prevented it.

It wasn’t a kiss.

Or not one like the other kisses you two had shared. This was a pressing of lips, barely a graceful flutter.

“Don’t, George. You weren’t able to say no; that’s the textbook definition of assau—”

This time, it had been him who pressed his lips against you.

He didn’t want to hear that word; he didn’t want to think of it at all, actually. Overthinking had been his main activity this past two weeks, and his second had been avoiding having any sort of contact with you outside of the performance in public.

How he had missed the taste of you on his tongue, the little game of guessing what the taste of your lips was. Even though the lip balm had dried off, he still was able to feel the faint sour yet sweet tang of it. 

Today was lemon.

Like it was the first time you had kissed.

But you wouldn’t be shut up by a kiss, not when what you wanted to say was important.

Warm fingers graced his cheekbones as you looked at him lovingly. “I know what kind of person you are, Gi.” Your voice softened even more. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise.”

For a second, neither of them spoke, letting the words sink inside his head. Then, with a tender force he didn’t know he could possess, he kissed you. It would have been borderline aggressive if it weren’t for the reverent way he was holding your face.

“I don’t want to think about it.” He whispered in between.

“Then don’t. Think of me.”

And he did so. Wholeheartedly. 

His mind, previously a battlefield, was overtaken by you, and only you.

Everything else could wait. 

George deepened the kiss, losing himself in the taste of you, in your scent, in your touches that were so different from anyone's, only reserved for him and him only.

Your breath changed; he felt it when his tongue went in and played with yours.

They had the time they didn’t during the bottle game; nothing could interrupt them or make them separate from each other now. With no time limit and no people eavesdropping on them, George grasped your hips and, in a fluid motion, brought you on top of him.

Things didn’t escalate quickly, and when you released a breathless moan once you came into contact with the bulge in his pants, he, unwilling to let go of your lips, slowly laid you on the twirl of cushions without breaking contact.

He took his time to slowly kiss you, to get you used to the rhythm of feeling desired, of being wanted to the aching point, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, nibbling and marking the tender flesh, allowing red splotches to bloom—some vibrant, others barely a pinkish blush—to the point where you were wholly breathless and filled with a greedy thirst that only grew bigger as he continued to show you what devotion was like.

Not really knowing when, they discarded their clothes to the side, slowly baring themselves to each other. George had to take a moment to admire your naked form, finding you mesmerising, and he told you so, making you blush and try to cover yourself with your hands.

“Hands off, pretty girl,” he chuckled, grabbing your arms and making you wrap them over his shoulders as he buried his head on your skin. 

He memorised the sound of your breath as he made a slow descent towards your breasts and almost moaned with you when he caught the perky button in his mouth, going harder or slower according to the little whimpers that escaped past your lips and travelled straight to his groin.

“Wait,” you breathed before he could keep going down your body.

George’s mouth hovering over your belly button stalled, and he flickered his eyes up at you. They were filled with something undeniably raw in a way you had never seen before—or that he had ever felt.

Alive.

He felt so fucking alive, so awake.

All his past experiences had been quick, with almost no time to taste or kiss; a hasty release that left him feeling completely void afterwards. Yet, right now, he found himself unable to part his lips from you, wanting this moment to last for as long as you allowed it.

So fucking different from what he felt with her. 

“Is it okay?” he asked, watching you shiver as his lips grazed your skin.

For a moment, your head lulled to the side before you went on your elbows again to look at him. Your eyes were feverish, gleaming with a shine that wasn’t tears but the edge of desire.

"I-I haven’t…” You chewed your lower lip, and it only made George want to go in for another kiss. “You know… I’ve never—”

“I know.” He kissed below your navel, eyes never leaving yours. “Do you want to stop?”

You shrugged, gaze darting away from his, shyly. “I don’t.”

“Then I won’t.”

It wasn’t demanding, nor fast. This wasn’t a quick release.

It was everything.

Your taste was glorious, something he would never get tired of. It made his aching hardness leak and his mouth lick and suck with ferocious hunger that made your legs crush together, squeezing his head between them.

If George died now, he would do so happily.

And God, he wasn’t Shakespeare, but the poems he could write about this instant.

“Fuck, George!”

For the first time since he met you, he heard you mouth a curse. Once, he had wondered what it would take for you to curse, and now he knew. He had to bring you such pleasure that, in between the throes of orgasm, you didn't remember the absurd rule your mother had engraved in your mind. 

The fingers clutching his hair eased as your body slumped against the cushions, exhausted and completely at his mercy. When he reached up towards you, he met your mouth halfway, tenderly licking your bitten lower lip as you brought him to rest on top of you. And you grimaced, making him laugh. 

“We’re good?” you asked, fingers caressing his cheekbone.

George hummed as his lips started kissing your face, peppering it with pecks. It made you giggle and move your face away from him.

“Stop.” Your laugh only grew louder when he started playfully nibbling your cheek. “You’re covering me in slobber.”

He smirked. “You didn’t mind it when I was lick—”

You cut him off by covering his lips with your mouth. “You’re a brat.”

“Now you are not cursing?” He gently peeled your hand away from his mouth, planting a small kiss on your palm before quickly pinning it down above your head. “What did you say?”

“I don’t curse, liar!”

You tried to hide your free hand behind your back, but his weight on top of you prevented that, so he ended up capturing both your wrists above your head.

“Yes, you did.” He planted a kiss on the tip of your nose. “What was it? Ah, yes. Something like, ‘Fuck me, George!’”

“Vulgar,” you whispered high-pitched. “So vulgar, don’t repeat it.”

“I won’t say it again,” he whispered wickedly. “But I’m sure you will.”

As if to make his point clear, he slithered a thigh between your legs and slowly moved it. Still sensitive, you whimpered lightly.

“Will you?”

Not only was he pressing your core deliciously, but his shaft was slowly thrusting against your hip.

In another instance, he would’ve already dealt with it. But this wasn’t that.

It was you.

And your comfort was more important than his own. Unless you explicitly said it, he would do nothing more.

Perhaps it was his body still processing everything that happened, or maybe your words had been imprinted on his mind. Whatever it was, George didn’t want you to feel even in the slightest bit as he did.

Helpless.

Though, by the way your eyes were filled with pleasure from the beginning, he doubted you did.

“Say it, love.” He whispered in your ear, fingers sliding down until they found the nub that made you see stars.

“Please,” you breathed, eyes closed.

“Please, what?”

It took you a moment to gather the words in your mouth, but then, with your cheeks flushed, you spoke slowly, almost hesitantly. “Please, fuck me, Gi.”

Something on his heart unknotted.

Unravelled.

And the pressure behind his eyes increased.

“Okay, love.”

It was something sacred, something to be handled with utmost care. Delicate like a rose, timidly opening its petals in the midst of a spring day, and he treated you as such. 

For him, that was his truth. No matter what, he would always see you as something to be handled carefully. Sometimes because you had the temper of a ticking bomb, and sometimes, like now, because you looked so fragile it was making his heart ache.

Even when he knew that it would inevitably hurt, he still apologised repeatedly in your ear for daring to make you feel pain once again.

Agonisingly slow, he moved. Enveloped by your warmth, there was only one thing he thought. 

How beautiful it would be if you were his. 

Excitement bubbled deep within you, needing your best friend's warm, tight hug around you, a kiss on the cheek, forehead, wherever just to be able to touch him. You have never been apart longer than a couple of weeks. It's been like that since your years in Hogwarts. But as he decided to travel and see more of the world, you found yourself craving for his presence beside you, his reassuring palm resting on your back, his playful wink starting off tiny little butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

The feeling wasn't new, nor was it unusual. You have been hopelessly in love with George for as long as you could remember. You watched him date other people, but never dared to say a word. As a good friend, you stayed beside him and supported him. At times, you scolded him when he and Fred went too far with their pranks or newest concoctions, but you couldn't stay mad at him, not even if you wanted to.

As you arrived at the right terminal, standing behind a corridor, you stared at the automatic doors, huffing as you waited for them to open. Tapping your foot against the white tiles of the ground, you impatiently played with your fidgeting fingers, locking them and unlocking them in your nervous state. Your stomach was a mess, butterflies enjoying a warzone in your tummy, heart thumping heavily, the sound audible even in your own ears. Trying to calm your nerves, you took deep breaths, but each attempt came out shuddered and shallow.

The doors opened, letting out a sea of people, some with groups, others one by one. When you saw a boy with ginger hair, your heart picked up the pace and started hammering against your ribcage. But it quickly died down as you realised the boy wasn't the one you were looking for. Your head fell forward as you waited, anxiously picking on your fingernails to pass time and focus on something other than your dangerously pulsing heart.

It's only been three months since you have seen him, but words couldn't describe how much you have missed him. When he announced that he was coming back, that he wanted you at the airport, you jumped from your bed, ready to go and pick him up, even though you had another two weeks before he was to come. It was the excitement that drove you for the next two weeks. To your surprise, none of the Weasley siblings or parents have joined you, which you felt was somewhat odd, but if anything, you found positivity in the situation. You had more time for yourself with George without others stealing him away from you.

When the doors opened again, another group of people exited through the corridors as your eyes fell on the ginger boy. You knew it was him without second guessing yourself. He didn't have to look at you, he didn't have to lift his head and meet your gaze. His silky hair, his broad shoulders, the way he walked, his hips swaying slightly and the lazy movement of his hand as it ran through his hair, messing it up even more, was a give-away. Your legs moved on their own, your feet meeting the ground in heavy thumps as you sprinted towards the boy.

George lifted his head, eyes meeting yours as a wide grin spread across his face. He dropped his bags on the ground and opened his arms for you, ready to catch your body in his embrace as you launched at him with a fit of giggle leaving your lungs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you closed your eyes and hid your face in his neck, busking in his scent and tight hold around your waist.

"I missed you so much," he whispered into your ears as he lifted you up and hinted a small kiss on your temple, before pressing another on the soft skin of the crook of your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.

"Not more than I did," you chuckled. He placed your feet on the ground, but he didn't let go. You tightened your arms around his neck, wanting to remove any gap between your bodies, needing his touch more than you knew a friend should have. But it seemed, George didn't want to let you go either, not just yet.

"I doubt that," he hummed against your skin, tickling your shoulder. Dozens of people walked past you, but you couldn't care about anyone else but George in your arms, his scent filling your nostrils and your body lost in his embrace.

When he loosened his arms around you and you pulled away, he lifted his hands and cradled your cheeks, gently stroking your skin with his calloused thumbs. Your cheeks warmed up at his soft touch, your heart thumping hard in your eardrums, your stomach having a tiny festival somewhere deep within. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes searching for something in yours, something you couldn't understand. Your shallow breathing caused your mouth to dry out, forcing you to lick across your lips, George's eyes following the movement of your tongue as though he was mesmerised.

"I really want to kiss you," he whispered, his breath tickling your skin. Though the terminal was loud and busy, you could hear it clearly. Your focus was completely and utterly captured by George.

"What?" You breathed weakly as your gaze fell on his lips, slightly parted in anticipation. His words felt like a dream, one that you couldn't possibly believe, but had no intention of waking up from. You rose to your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his, closing the unnecessary gap between you. For a moment George hesitated to kiss back, but as he felt your arms sneak around his neck, he wrapped his around your waist and pulled you flash against him, returning the kiss in haste. It wasn't gentle, nor was it slow. It was hungry as though he was desperate for more of you, as though he was incapable of having enough of you.

"I love you," he breathed against your lips as he tilted his forehead against yours, eyes closed blissfully, his long lashes casting a shadow on his cheeks. Your eyes widened, tears blurring your vision, slowly escaping. George opened his eyes and removed the tears with a soft smile across his lips.

"I love you too," you smiled back at him through your tears, the joy his confession made you feel, overwhelming your senses.

"I'm sorry for leaving," he said as he leaned back and straightened himself. "I was a coward."

A deep frown sat across your brows as your tears stopped and looked up at George with a puzzled expression. "What are you talking about? You were visiting your aunt," you shook your head as you squeezed his arm reassuringly, not needing an apology for such a thing.

"I was, but I also wasn't," he replied as his eyes fell on the ground. "I visited her indeed, but I decided to leave because I didn't know what to do with my feelings," he scoffed at his own words. "I was so scared of losing you, imagining my life without you, if I was to ever tell you my feelings. I thought if I left it would help me clear my head, and maybe— maybe to get over you and be your friend again. But it just made me even more desperate to see you," he huffed. You tilted your head, trying to catch his eyes, but he refused to meet yours. Placing your index finger under his chin, you lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"I've always loved you for your dumb and even dumber ideas," you giggled, tying to lighten the mood. "Who else would run away from his feelings just to come back even more desperate if not you?" You grinned happily as you wrapped your arms around his waist, locking your fingers behind his back. "I love you George and believe me, you are not a coward. I didn't dare to confess my feelings for the very same reasons," you said as you offered him a reassuring smile.

"We are just two fools in love, aren't we?" He asked with a mischievous smile growing wider across his handsome face.

"I would argue with you only for the sake of arguing, but you are right," you snickered, earning an eye roll from George. "On a side note. I'm guessing, you had something to do with your family waiting for you at home instead of coming with me to pick you up, am I right or am I right?" You chuckled with a questioningly arched brow.

"Maybe?" He said with a playful smirk, though it was more of a question, earning another fit of laughter from you. "For Merlin's sake, I missed you," he grinned proudly as he took your jaw between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head for better access as he pressed his lips against yours, this time meeting you in a slow, but sensuous kiss.

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Cedric Diggory. 

The Hufflepuff team’s captain and seeker, prefect, all teachers’ favourite student, a Triwizard Tournament contender, and the boy you had fancied for the better part of this year. 

It all started when the two of you were seated next to each other in Charms last year and talked for the first time…ever. You never noticed how pretty he was up close before, how smart and charming and funny and clever. A few months into sitting next to him, you two got to know each other better, and before you knew it, conversations turned into bants, and light touches here and there were barely out of the ordinary. Soon, that transitioned into occasionally finding yourself in his sheets, a quickie in an abandoned corridor when nobody was around, making out between classes with some light petting, a blowjob here, head there, and it had all been fun and slowly, but surely, you had caught feelings.  

So, when the Yule Ball’s approach was announced, you quickly started daydreaming of going with him. How perfect you two would look: you in your alluring gown and him in a suit with a tie matching your dress, as if cut from the same cloth, a metaphor for how you two complemented each other. The thought made you giddy.

You were fully convinced he was going to ask you as well. The signs were all there, and it was basically all you had talked to George about in the weeks approaching: how he was going to do it, where he’d do it (“I hope he does it privately, like on the Astronomy Tower”), when he’d do it, etc. George would playfully roll his eyes every time you brought up the subject, if only to hide the ache in his chest every time you mentioned Cedric. However, seeing you so chuffed made the pain worthwhile. So the redhead was thoroughly confused when he heard through the grapevine that Cedric had asked out Cho Chang. 

George didn’t waste another second after Fabian Queenie told him after classes that Thursday, practically shoving his books into Fred’s arms and sprinting to the Gryffindor dorms to find you. He ran up to your dorm and rapped his knuckles against the door in the pattern you two had come up with so you’d know who was there without them having to say it. Knock…knock…knock knock. 

When you didn’t answer, he called gently, “Y/n…? It's Georgie.” 

A few seconds later, your meek voice answered. “Come in.”

He twisted the handle and walked in. The curtains were drawn over the large windows, casting thick shadows over the room and obscuring basically everything from view. The next thing he noticed was that your shoes were haphazardly kicked off, since he nearly tripped over one as he walked to your bed at the opposite end of the room. He found you in a starfish position, still in your robes, staring up at the ceiling with red, puffy eyes and an empty look in them. Your hair was messy, robes slightly wrinkled, and your books had been carelessly tossed on the desk.

He opened the curtains on one of the windows, letting the blazing sunlight filter into the room, making you groan in discomfort. He turned to you, arms crossed. “I heard what happened,” he said, standing by the bed and looking down at you. 

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I feel so fucking pathetic,” your voice came out scratchy. “I mean,” you sniffled, twisting George’s heart painfully. “He’s never even said he fancies me. I just went about making these stories in my head that he does. I’m fucking daft.” 

You pulled yourself into a seated position, smoothing out your hair and wiping the tears from your face. 

“To be fair, after doing the things he did to you,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, leading you to throw a pillow at him. He caught it and chuckled. “But after your situation, you’re not wrong to assume he might be interested in you.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, still staring at the ceiling, then closed your eyes. “I feel used.” Your voice came out small, as if it were an admission you were scared to hear yourself. 

George’s heart squeezed in his chest at your tone. It wasn’t just that he was seeing you in pain. He greatly cared about his friends, and he wanted to fight anyone who hurt them. But more importantly, this was you. George had yet to come across anyone as brilliant, kind, and beautiful as you. You didn’t deserve this. Not from some soggy sock-looking bloke. Not from anyone. He just wished you’d see in yourself what he saw, that you deserved to be treated like a queen, to have whatever you wanted at your feet, a guy who’d lie in a puddle and let you walk over him so your shoes didn’t get dirty. Him. 

“Don’t feel bad, love,” George ruffled your hair. “You weren’t wrong for liking him. He does have a certain…charm about him,” he said comfortingly, trying his best to hide the irritation in his voice. ‘Charm’ being just his painfully average face, he added silently to himself.

You side-eyed him. “Don’t you hate him for telling on you after you and Fred flooded the dungeons with that sticky liquid?” 

“And yet I’m praising him for you,” he replied as he sat down at the edge of your bed. “Imagine how much I must love you.” 

You chuckled softly. “I love you too, Georgie. I really appreciate you trying to cheer me up.” You nudged his arm affectionately with your foot.

George smiled but quickly hid it with a grimace. “Now don’t get all emotional on me,” he iterated with mock disgust, although his heart was doing backflips in his chest at your declaration. If only you meant it the same way he did. 

You swatted his arm, laughing again. “I’m trying to be appreciative here.” 

“Exactly. Doesn’t suit you,” he shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re much better off being the cocky witch yelling at Fred and me for being irresponsible dimbos.” George grinned at you.

“Someone's gotta keep you two idiots alive,” you replied coyly.

He laughed, earning a small huff of amusement from you as well. A few seconds of silence passed with you both basking in the lighter atmosphere before you dragged your hands down your face. 

“Ugh, I’m gonna look so fucking pathetic going to the ball alone now,” you groaned, plopping back down.

George rolled his eyes at how dramatic you were being. He lay down next to you with his head on the same pillow, hands on his stomach, and nudged your leg with his. “You’re not gonna go alone.” 

You peered at him through a gap between your fingers. “And who’s gonna ask me?” 

George considered this for a moment, rubbing his chin in thought. “I mean, if all else fails, you could always go with Nearly Headless Nick.” 

“George!” You smacked him in the face with a pillow, but he put his hands up in time, laughing. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, still laughing, as he gingerly took the pillow from your hands before you attacked him again. “But,” he continued, suddenly serious. “If it's alright with you,” he looked away while talking with a timid cadence you had never heard before. “We could go together.” 

Your breath stuttered at the suggestion. You turned your head towards him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Weren’t you gonna ask Fleur Delacour?” 

He shook his head slightly. “Nah, that was just a joke,” he waved a hand dismissively, sitting up once again and looking down at his hands.

You observed him for a couple more seconds, taking in the way his hands lightly fidgeted with the pillow in his lap, his leg bouncing nervously, and a slight aversion of his gaze from yours, as if waiting for your rejection. He was nervous, which confused you beyond measure because George had never been nervous around you. However, the thought of going to the ball with him was exciting. You wouldn’t have to pretend to be all girly and sophisticated because George already knew you were a messy eater; you could enjoy without having to worry that you were going to say the wrong thing, and contrary to his reputation, he was an excellent dancer. 

A radiant smile overtook your features then, and you sat up excitedly. “I would love to go with you, Georgie.” 

His face lit up, brows raising in surprise and leg stilling in its bouncing. “Really? Alright then!” 

You nodded with a smile, feeling suddenly bashful, and averted your gaze, but if the pink dusting on George’s face was any hint, you weren’t the only one. 

The week of the ball arrived sooner than anticipated. You and Hermione had gone shopping together, which was exciting in and of itself. Not only because trying on different dresses and feeling pretty was fun, but also because this was literally the first time you were doing something like this with Hermione. Usually, she would steer clear of anything “girly,” whether that be shopping, makeup, or boys. This time, however, she had been asked to the Yule Ball by the one and only Durmstrang hottie boom body, Victor Krum. 

You two made a whole day out of it: brunch at a small, quaint cafe with a scent of coffee and cinnamon in the air, and way too many candles, then the afternoon spent walking around different stores in search of gowns. 

“How's this one?” you asked as you walked out of the change room in a floor-length, navy blue gown encrusted with enough crystals to make it seem like you’d donned the Milky Way. 

Hermione gave you a wide-eyed, awestruck up-and-down before nodding in approval. “This is it,” she smiled. 

You grinned in response before going back into the change room to put on your regular clothes. 

“So tell me again, how did the George thing happen?” she called out to you while you were changing. 

You sighed, thinking back to it. “I told you. Cedric decided to go with Cho, and I was too embarrassed to show up by myself because that would look ultra mega pathetic, so George asked me to make me feel better.” 

Hermione scoffed at your oblivion. “You really don’t see it, do you?” 

“See what?” you asked. “Hey, can you help me with the zipper?”

“He is absolutely smitten with you!” she exclaimed as she entered the change room to help you out of the dress.

“What?” you laughed in disbelief. “He is not. He’s just my best friend, and he didn’t want me to be sad over some guy. He’s just being nice, Mione.” 

Hermione looked at you incredulously. “You’re the only person to go down in history who George has ever been ‘nice’ to. Normally they’re just a pain in everyone's arses.” She gave you an unimpressed look when you only chuckled in response. “Mark my words. By the end of this year, you two will be together.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully while shaking your head at her, but a weird excitement filled you at the thought. Not my Georgie, you thought to yourself. You quickly put on the shirt you were wearing again and gathered the flouncy gown, draping it over one arm while walking out. 

“So…you and Victor?” you said in a suggestive tone, making Hermione blush furiously. This was perhaps the first and only time you’d see her flounder for a response.

And so went the entire day with you two shopping for your dresses, heels, and accessories, deciding the looks, and discussing your tragic and her nonexistent love lives. A true girls' day for the history books. 

You walked down the moving staircase from the Gryffindor dorms, internally cringing at the entrance you’d make with George standing at the bottom of the steps, but unfortunately, jumping out the window wasn’t an option. 

“Looking absolutely breathtaking, Miss L/n,” George announced grandly, bowing as you stepped down the last stair. Surprisingly, the hint of teasing you’d expected was missing from his tone.

“Looking mighty handsome yourself, Mr. Weasley,” you responded sincerely, setting your hand in his open palm. 

Fred simply smirked at you from his place next to George. “You look hot, Y/n,” he said with that boyish charm and a flirty wink that had you laughing. It was truly fascinating how two people who look so alike can be so different. 

“Oi, that's my date,” George lightly shoved his brother.

You laughed, your hand still in George’s as he led you to the Great Hall where the ball was held. The hall had been redecorated with all the tables removed, icicles coming down from the ceiling looking as if they were sparkling, and three massive trees with snow on the leaves stood at the back of the room. There were beautiful fountains that looked as if the water was frozen. The room looked absolutely ethereal, and you couldn’t help but look around in awe at the beauty of it all. 

“I'm going to go find Angelina,” Fred announced before departing, leaving you and George alone. 

You leaned in and said quietly in George’s ear, “I still can’t thank you enough for coming with me, Georgie.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “No need to thank me, love. I got a beautiful date with whom I can actually enjoy myself, instead of worrying about how I’m dancing or if I’m being entertaining enough. So really, the pleasure is all mine.” 

You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek that had George’s heart rate speeding up. The things you do to him without even knowing. He squeezed your hand before guiding you further into the throng of immaculately dressed, exquisitely smelling Durmstrang, Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons students. You looked around at everyone with a smile, greeting a few students from classes and some you had gotten to know since the Triwizard Tournament started. (“You look beautiful!” “Thank you! You as well!”). 

As you made your way towards the centre, however, your happiness and excitement crashed and burned into a heap of dread, and the ashes stood in front of you in the form of Cedric Diggory and his date, Cho Chang, doing what could only be described as canoodling. Her arms were around his shoulders, and his hands rested on her waist as their lips met repeatedly for a series of puppy kisses that pulled disgusted looks from both you and George. Despite what you and Cedric had done together, this was still too inappropriate to be happening in public. 

Cedric pulled away from her after a couple of seconds with a silly grin and turned around…only to lock eyes with you. He smiled, transitioned into a smile as he paused his meandering gaze to take in your look: your dress, the intricate updo your hair was in, the flawless makeup, and of course, the man on your arm. 

“Hey, Y/n!” he greeted cheerfully as if you two were besties.

“Mhmm,” was the only response he got. Surely he couldn’t think you were happy with him at the moment after him using you for months and then discarding you when it came time to show real commitment. Some man, he was. 

“Hey there,” George greeted in an attempt to diffuse the awkward atmosphere. 

Now, you might be giving this soggy sock of a man too much credit, but you were expecting some kind of accountability. Some acknowledgement that what he did was wrong, to look the slightest bit apologetic for what he did, but no. He chose avoidance in typical Cedric fashion.

“You look nice tonight, Y/n,” Cedric commented with his charming smile. The nerve of this man! At least his compliment earned him a glare from Cho.

“Stop talking to me,” you replied coldly and took a load of pleasure in watching his smile falter. 

You only stayed long enough for Cho to look at Cedric quizzically before you and George walked past them. 

“Cedric Diggory has no balls,” you sneered when you two were far enough away from the pair. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’ve seen the real ones. Small-balled fucker,” you muttered angrily.

George gaped at you in shock for a second before bursting into laughter. “I can’t believe you just said that!” he laughed, doubling over. 

You looked at him laughing, still angry at Cedric, but hearing George’s contagious laughter broke your resolve, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer, joining him. “I don’t know where that came from either.” 

For some time, you two stood there shit-talking Cedric, you getting upset over how betrayed and hurt you felt and George doing everything in his power to make you laugh. As you listened to George talking, you couldn’t help but think back to all the times you had been upset, and he had done what he could to make you smile again, and an unexpected warmth filled you at the thought. George Weasley was truly a keeper, and you were beyond grateful to call him your best friend. 

A while later, the two of you met with some friends: Fred and his date, Angelina, Lee Jordan and his date, Oliver Wood, Alicia Snippet, and Katie Bell. The lot of you chatted for a bit while snacking at the food table and sipping on your drinks before dancing started. Fred did not waste a second before bowing to Angelina and asking for her hand in a dance, which she graciously (and bashfully) accepted. Oliver shyly asked Katie if she’d like to dance, and Alicia was swept away by a Durmstrang Quidditch player (“You better not switch teams after this,” George teasingly instructed the girl), and eventually it was just the two of you standing there. 

You looked to George, not saying it, but he knew what you wanted. He smirked cockily before bowing and offering his hand. “M’lady, care to honour this humble peasant with the blessing to dance with your highness?” 

“Why yes, kind sir. Thought you’d never ask,” you replied in the same tone. 

The two of you headed to the dance floor, one of his hands on your waist, the other holding yours to the side, while your other hand rested on his shoulder. You swayed to the music slowly, sinking into the rhythm of the gentle melody playing.

You looked around the room at the other dancing couples, even spotting Cho and Cedric, but your body did not fill with the jealousy and rage as you had anticipated. Instead, you felt glad that it wasn’t you with him, for you might have liked Cedric, but nobody except George could make the night as fun for you as it had been so far. The realisation jars you a bit. 

“You having a good time, love?” George asked softly, pulling your attention back to him. 

His wide brown eyes watched you carefully, taking in every minute change in your expression, and you felt something tugging at your heartstrings. Had he always been this attentive? Had his tone always been that soft and careful? 

“I am,” you replied softly. “And you?” 

“One of the best nights of my life,” he murmured, his face graced with a fond smile.

The earnestness in his tone caught you off guard. Normally, questions like this would be met with sarcasm from him, but tonight, he seemed to let some of his vulnerability show, to allow you a brief peek into his mind and heart through his eyes, and you had to admit that the world beyond the molten chocolate seemed like a dream you didn’t want to escape. 

You tipped your chin up, bringing your faces impossibly closer, noses barely brushing against each other. You heard the slight hitch in George’s breathing, the change in his eyes that went from teasing to longing, and the hand holding yours at the side came to rest on the back of your neck, pushing your faces even closer. It would be so easy to close that gap. To feel his lips on yours. To cross that boundary between best friends and lovers. 

“Y/n!” a voice called from somewhere to the side, causing you and George to jump apart. You turned to see Hermione walking towards you, no Victor Krum in sight, and tears in her eyes. Immediately, you imagined the worst: he had stood her up. She marched up towards you and pulled you away. 

“I’ll find you later,” you quickly said to George apologetically and let Hermione lead you away. 

George stood there, feeling flustered and disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to kiss you like he’d wanted to, basically since the second year, but he hoped he’d have more chances tonight to do it properly, grand romantic speech and all.

You sat with Hermione on the steps while she cried. She told you that she had a great time with Victor, and she was upset because of a stupid argument with Ron. You rubbed her back while she cried (“Boys are idiots, Mione”) and let her rest her head on your shoulder while she bawled her heart out. 

When you didn’t return for a while, George came to find you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly. 

“Your brother is an idiot,” you responded.

He put his hands in his pockets. “That could apply to any of them. I need you to be specific.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Ron, obviously,” you gestured to Hermione. 

“Ah, my apologies,” he said and took a seat on Hermione’s other side and gently nudged her shoulder with hers. “I don’t know what he did, but I can tell you, ever since he was young, he’s said things he hasn’t meant when he’s upset. Just whack him on the head and tell him he’s a dozy. That's what mum always did.” 

That earned a laugh out of Hermione, and she nodded in response. “Noted.” 

After sitting with her for a bit, you left her to find Victor again and enjoy the rest of her night. 

“Wanna head back?” George asked softly. 

You nodded. “Yeah, my feet are killing me,” you shifted your weight from one foot to another to soothe the ache that had settled there. 

“Would you like me to carry you up the stairs?” he asked flirtatiously, head dipping towards yours. 

You took this opportunity to tease him. You stepped back, gave him an up-down assessing look, then said, “I don’t think you’re strong enough to carry me.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?” 

“Maybe,” you smirked. “You strong enough to prove me wrong?” 

He only smirked once before you were being swept off your feet. You yelped as your arms flew around George’s neck automatically to hold on. He laughed before walking out of the Great Hall and towards the Gryffindor dorms. Throughout, though, your eyes did not leave each other, lost in each other's gazes as if the rest of the school did not exist. 

He finally set you down once you were in the common room, which was empty, only a lit fire in the hearth creating a warm atmosphere. However, the warmth of the fire was nothing compared to the warmth of George’s gaze as he looked at you. By this point, your hair had come slightly loose from its updo, a couple of the strands falling onto your forehead, which he gently reached out to brush back. 

Unconsciously, you leaned into his touch, which released a swarm of butterflies in George's chest. Had you always been this adorable? 

“You know,” you started quietly. “We never did get to have that kiss.” 

“Yeah…we didn’t,” he whispered, stepping closer. His hands settled on your waist once again, and yours wound around his shoulders. 

His eyes flicked to your lips as he leaned in a little more, your noses brushing once again, and this time, you closed your eyes and leaned in further. He followed, both of your hearts pounding in your chests until your lips met, and suddenly everything went silent. The crackling of the hearth, the faint sounds of music, and both of your erratic breathing- none of it existed anymore. Only the feeling of his lips pressed to yours, moving in a rhythm built by the drumming of your hearts. His hands on your waist pulled you closer as he kissed you deeper, like he’d been starved of you for ages. A soft sound escaped him, somewhat like a whine but with yearning that all doubts you might’ve had about ruining your friendship dissolved into nothing. Because this kiss was proof that this was meant to be. This one kiss told you that George would protect your heart forever, and you would protect his. 

You two pulled away after a while with bright smiles and swollen lips and heavy breathing, yet unbelievably light hearts. 

“Let's go up to my room?” you asked, and he nodded without hesitation. 

In your room, you approached your bed and turned your back towards him. “Do you mind unzipping the dress?” 

George stood behind you, and you could feel the heat of his body behind you. It thrilled you endlessly. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck before sliding down the zipper gently. The dress slid down your body and pooled at your feet, leaving you in your underclothes in front of him. 

You slowly turned around to face him, feeling weirdly shy. 

His breath caught in his chest as he took in the sight of you standing in your underwear. “You, love, are the most breathtaking creature I’ve ever seen.” He tentatively rested his hands on your hips again as if he was handling something fragile and delicate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back. “I’m gonna change into my PJs. Make yourself comfortable.” 

He nodded and watched you walk away with a whipped smile on his face. 

You returned a few minutes later in your PJs to find George sitting at the edge of your bed in his undershirt and briefs. His elbows rested on his knees, and you couldn’t help but be taken by his very toned arms. Years of Quidditch had given him a beautiful physique, and you mentally chastised yourself for not appreciating it sooner. 

“You still look handsome,” you smiled as you stepped between his legs. Your hands went to tangle in his hair as he peered up at you dreamily. 

“And you still look breathtaking,” he murmured. “It's unfair.” 

You chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. It was odd that it didn’t feel odd, considering your first kiss happened mere minutes ago. Yet the usual shyness that comes with a first kiss, with being vulnerable with a person for the first time, was nowhere to be found in either of you. Perhaps that's the best part about being with your best friend. There’s no shame, no nerves, just comfort and the feeling that for once, something is going incredibly right. 

“Can you help me with my hair?” you asked softly. 

He nodded, letting go of you so you could settle in front of him. His hands went to your hair and gingerly started fishing out the sparkly clips and bobby pins in your hair. He was unbelievably gentle, making sure not to tug on your hair too much and apologizing every time he accidentally pulled too hard. 

When he was done, he buried his fingers in your hair and massaged your scalp for a couple of minutes. 

“Mmmm, you’re a godsend,” you tipped your head back into his touch, utterly blissed out. 

He laughed softly. “I remember you complaining last year when you did that bun for your birthday that your head was hurting. Figured it’d be the same this time around.” 

You turned around to face him, causing his arms to fall to his sides.

“Someone should’ve told me sooner that dating your best friend is like this. I would’ve given in way sooner,” you teased. 

He smiled and leaned in, as did you, and your lips met once again in a soft, loving kiss. The rest of the night was spent with you making out in your bed until you got tired and fell asleep.

The castle was buzzing with excitement, metharophically and literally. The Yule Ball would be

held in just 2 short weeks, and most people had already picked out their robes, dresses and most importantly, their dates. That is where your problem lies.

„Why don’t you go with him? He seems nice.”

Muses Angelina as she snatches toast off your plate, pointing at a sixth-year Ravenclaw.

„I don’t like him” You reply, staring at your pumpkin juice, as if it holds the answer to why you don’t have a date yet. „I’ll just go alone, it’s not a big deal.” You mutter.

„Come on, we all know that’s not true.” Counters Ava „You, want to have an amazing, romantic night out, dancing until the sun comes up. You can’t really do that without a partner to take you”

You had to admit she had a good point. Spending the night standing awkwardly to the side, watching other people have the time of their lives would be absolute torture. You needed a date, and you needed one fast.

„Whatever, let me get to class”

You abruptly stood up, grabbing your bag and leaving the great hall. You’d deal with this problem later. You had way too much on your mind. You still had to buy a dress to wear for the night, and that seems like a big decision. What if you dont end up liking the color, or the fabric, or maybe you won’t have matching shoes-

„Shit” You mutter as your bag goes tumbling to the floor, it’s contents sprawling over the floor. You’d been so caught up in preparations, you didn’t notice a whole other person right in front of you. „Im so sorry, I didn’t mea-„

You don’t finish your sentence, as your gaze falls onto amber brown eyes, the shade that you’ve memorized in your head, from hours of staring into them. The color of chocolate when in the shade, but burning like fire in the sunlight

It seems that George is just as awkward as you, as he quickly averts his eyes and begins picking up your things. „It’s fine, just an accident.” He mutters, grabbing a fallen notebook that has somehow landed way over by the wall.

„Thanks” Is all you can muster to reply. You notice Fred awkwardly standing off to the side, watching the interaction unfold along with about 10 other students. When did a whole crowd appear?

„Yeah, no problem” He says and clears his throat. Your eyes meet again, and suddenly the ache you felt all summer has now returned, making your heart feel like it’s shattering all over again.

George’s thoughts were pretty similar. He spent the whole second half of the holidays sulking. He felt sick that this was the outcome of your relationship. He’d fantasized, about graduating together, moving in, but of course all of that shattered on that particular Thursday night.

It seems that you’ve been standing in the corridor, staring at each other for a good 10 seconds, so you grip the strap of your bag tighter, and side-step around him, not risking a glance back.

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„What if it means something?” Ava muses, sitting next to you on the couch by the fireplace in the common room. You told them about the encounter with George, which has now turned into a whole discussion.

„What could it possibly mean? I bumped into him for Merlin’s sake, it’s not like I kissed him” You say, exasperated and burying your head in your hands.

”What if he wanted to kiss you, but couldn’t because you were in a corridor filled with people?” Katie asks, biting down on yet another chocolate frog. Where does she get so many of them?

„Yeah, and the grass is pink” You reply and scoff.

It’s been 5 months since your break-up, I mean, surely he’s over you by now, right? Why would he ever wanna get back together again. Your mind spiraled, thinking.

You’ve been trying to convince yourself that you’re better off without George, but the thought of him always came back to you, no matter how hard you try to ignore him.

Whatever, he’s probably off having fun with his new date to the ball-

„Does George have a date yet? To the ball?” You suddenly ask, interrupting the girls conversation.

„I don’t think so” Ava answers slowly after a brief pause. „But what do you need that information for?”

You don’t answer, mulling over this new piece of information. George Weasley was single, he didn’t have a date yet-

„Oh. OH. OH FUCK NO GIRL” Katie’s outburst has you snapped out of your thoughts. „no no no no no, we are not doing that, okay? He’s an ex for a reason honey”

They all stare at you, giving you a sympathetic look

„It's not such a bad idea tho?” You mutter, crossing your arms. You needed a date, and he was the perfect candidate.

What could possibly go wrong?

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„Mate”

„Hm?”

George was slowly going insane. How is it possible that everyone has a date by now? Even his own twin has pulled someone, and he’s sitting here, the Yule Ball less than 2 weeks away, with no one to take.

„You do realize that if you want to get a girl, you’ll actually have to gain some confidence and ask one?” Says Fred, who has been talking George’s ear off the whole week, asking him for updates on the ”situation”.

„I know that, there’s a small problem tho, the girl I want doesn’t want me” He replies a little too harshly, but he’s too busy staring at you sitting with your friends.

„Merlin George, you should at least try to ask her out. Who knows, she might agree” Fred muses, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice.

The chances of that happening were below zero.

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It was snowing, of course it was.

Just as you were about to step out of the greenhouse, you noticed the snowstorm that was blocking you from getting back to the castle. Bloody lovely.

You saw that some people were better equipped and had jackets, but you weren’t one of the lucky ones.

You thought to wait it out, maybe it’ll go away in a couple minutes. So, you waited. 3 minutes later, there was no change. 5 minutes later, it felt like the blizzard had gotten worse. You checked your watch. The next class, was in 10 minutes, and it was on the other side of the castle. Great.

„Bloody hell” You heard a familiar voice and turned around. There stood George and Fred. Both of them turned their gazes to you.

„Oh George, I’ve gotta run, so uhh I’ll see you in the common room” Fred quickly said, and practically ran out the door, into the rain.

You both stood there silently, staring at each other, before you decided to speak.

„What was that about?”

„I think it’s best if you don’t ask.”

You both gaze out onto the grounds were now a soft white color, the view of the castle being very hazy through the snow. You stole a couple glances at him. He caught you.

„Enjoying the view?”

Despite the cold, your cheeks immediately heated up.

„Shut up.”

He laughed.

It’s been months since youd heard that laugh, and something about it made your chest tighten, and something in your stomach to flutter.

„I don’t think it’s getting better, we should head back to the castle.” You try to change the subject.

„Yeah, I reckon you’re right” He pauses „Dont you have a jacket?” He asks, gesturing at your current outfit

„I thought I wouldn’t need it for such a short trip."

„It’s the middle of December”

„It was warmer before!”

He sighed

„Fine”

George took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. „Now you won’t be cold”

You stood, frozen as a statue. George Weasley, your ex-boyfriend just gave you his jacket so you wouldn’t be cold.

„Wha-, no no you dont need to do that George, I’ll be fine. What will you wear?”

„Ive played quidditch matches in colder weather, trust me I’ll be fine.”

You knew you wouldn’t win the argument, so you chose to just accept your fate.

You both headed out and were immediately soaked through to the bone. George’s jacket didn’t do much, but it helped preserve some of your body’s warmth.

You walked side by side in silence, climbing up the slope to castle.

The previous conversation with your friends came back to you. What if you did ask him out?

The worst thing that could happen was him saying no, and then you’d just find some random bloke to take you. It was a pretty decent pla-

You slipped.

Your placed your foot down on a slippery rock, your leg sliding down.

The ground was getting closer and closer.

You placed your hands in front your chest to catch yourself-

Strong hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back up.

You looked first at the arms encircling your abdomen, and then back up at the ginger haired boy to who they belonged to.

You realised that your hands were braced against his chest so you wouldn’t fall.

His gaze crashed down onto yours, those firey eyes finding yours. There were rain drops falling from his eyelashes, his hair completely soaked and dripping, but those eyes didnt stray from yours.

„George”

The word almost gets lost to the sound of water hitting the ground, but he still hears it.

His eyes momentarily drop down, to your lips, before going back up again, meeting your gaze.

You realize how close you are. When did you lean in? You don’t remember. The tension is thick now, and you realize that you’re completely alone. There’s no nosy students, or teachers threatening to put you in detention.

„Oh fuck it”

You lean in, closing the gap between you both.

The kiss tastes like all the late night talks you had at the burrow. Like when you’d sneak out past midnight, down to the kitchens to steal food from the house elves. When you went swimming in the lake, and were freezing, but it was worth it since you were in it together. Like when you both finally confessed and got together. It tasted the same as that last kiss you shared 5 months ago, when you left without saying goodbye, leaving him wondering what he did wrong.

You pull away slightly to take a breath. He rests his forehead against yours. You’re both absolutely drenched, and shivering, but all of it was fucking worth it.

„Do you wanna go to the ball with me?”

You randomly ask.

He laughs.

„Merlin, I thought you’d never ask” He gently kisses the tip of your nose „Now lets get back to the castle before we both get hipothermia”

Katie will be absolutely pissed

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